


As Time Will Tell

by lilac19822



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First War with Voldemort, M/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8910664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilac19822/pseuds/lilac19822
Summary: The Marauders are in their sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy. In addition to studying for the NEWTs, performing prefect duties and dealing with monthly transformations, Remus Lupin must traverse the evolving landscape of young adulthood and the unexpected feelings of love and lust awakened by his best friend. From Hogwarts until the very end, Sirius Black holds singular sway over Remus' heart, for better or worse.





	1. The Start of Sixth Year

Remus Lupin glanced up from his book just in time to see Severus Snape rush past, steaming and sputtering a slew of curse words under his breath. His slick black hair was stringier than usual, probably owing to the gobs of a suspiciously unrecognizable purple substance slowly inching down his face and robe.

Remus felt compelled to shake his head, yet his exasperation was tinged with unpreventable delight, as he knew what to expect next.

As the incensed Slytherin stormed past the Black Lake nestled south of Hogwarts castle, Remus turned back toward the direction from where Snape came to find he was not wrong.

Coming up the same hill were the figures of his two fellow sixth years, currently stumbling among bouts of laughter. Both were Gryffindors. Both had black hair, though worn in vastly different styles. Both had an inexplicable dislike of Snape.

Remus sighed. He knew a prefect badge hung from his robe. And he had a sneaking suspicion Dumbledore gave it to him precisely for moments such as these.

As the two laughing teenagers fell to soft grass-covered earth beside Remus, he asked – trying to keep his voice clean of amusement – "Alright, Padfoot, Prongs… what did you do to Severus this time?"

"Just a simple Gelanious Jinx, Moony. Does no permanent damage, unless he can't figure out the counter-jinx," James Potter snickered and gave Sirius a knowing look. Sirius Black smirked in return.

Remus, catching the interchange, sighed again and did his best to frown upon his fellow Marauders' behavior. "What's the counter-jinx?"

Sirius' arrogant yet playful smirk grew more defined as he answered, "Not sure. We haven't come up with one, yet."

Remus was not surprised to discover the pranksters had developed yet another ridiculously childish spell. "I assume Severus did something genuinely awful to warrant this foul play?"

James gasped in mock indignation. "Of course, mate! We always have a good reason behind casting a jinx or a hex."

"Always," Sirius chimed in, his voice the epitome of casual confidence.

"He was picking on poor Evans and her friends. They didn't have the gumption to stop him – someone had to, right? We did it for the common good."

"How noble of you. But are you quite sure," Remus asked, cocking his head to the side and raising his eyebrows deliberately, "that he wasn't just talking to Lily and she actually didn't mind at all, seeing as they've been friends for a long time?"

"Of course not," James replied, unperturbed to receive what could be conceived as a reprimand from one of his best friends. "She was definitely irritated. They're not as close as they used to be. Not since she's started to realize what Snivellus really is – a thoroughly rotten egg."

"Honestly, Moony," Sirius turned to Remus and gave him a mocking grin. "Whose side are you on? Prefect or not, I would expect you to show more loyalty toward our dear Prongs here. He is selflessly trying to protect the vulnerable from evil – and hair grease."

Remus looked into Sirius' liquid grey eyes, brimming with mirth and playful teasing as they normally were, and he felt his face soften, along with whatever minute resolve he had mustered to keep his friends' antics in check. It was hard to stay annoyed with James, and even more so Sirius. Somehow his energy, cleverness and charm kept him on everyone's good side. Well … mostly everyone.

"You're right, you're right, Padfoot," Remus smiled.

"As usual," Sirius followed up quickly.

"I extend my sincerest apologies to Mr. Prongs for doubting his motives," Remus said with an air of feigned remorse.

James said nothing. He was subconsciously running his fingers through his already messy hair, and his gaze denoted distraction.

Sure enough, seconds later, Lily Evans and two of her close friends, a fellow Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw, sauntered past the three teenagers sprawled under the graceful willow. Lily paid them no mind, but Remus saw the Ravenclaw cast a particularly pleased and flirtatious smile at Sirius. The raven-haired boy smiled back, augmenting his attractiveness without appearing overly eager or interested.

Sirius was born with the upper hand in many regards, and he rarely gave it up. He would do what it took to maintain favor in the eyes of his peers without relinquishing the elite social status he occupied.

Observing this interlude, Remus felt pricked by a familiar twinge of jealously. Without giving it more than indifferent acknowledgement, he dismissed it.

He felt invaded by that injection of inexplicable envy each time Sirius received overt adoration from his ample supply of admirers. The first time it happened, a couple years ago, Remus was confused by it. He wasn't a naturally jealous person and he wasn't apt to view himself with pity – so why did it bother him when Sirius was shamelessly accosted by member after member of Hogwarts' female population?

Certainly Remus did not receive the same attention from fellow students, although he was favored among the teachers. He didn't have the overwhelming good looks, the prestigious name nor the irresistible charm Sirius possessed. Unable to derive a better explanation, Remus felt forced to conclude that he was just feeling sorry for himself. Not wanting to be defined by such a distasteful characteristic, he had learned to ignore the pathetic jealousy each time it stabbed him.

"Aren't you going to say 'thanks,' Evans?" James called after the trio of girls before they finished removing themselves from earshot.

Remus shook his head and covered his face. "Oh James," he muttered, "always a step too far."

Indeed, Lily had spun around. She gazed unabashedly at James, her chin raised with a haughtiness that rivalled Sirius'. "Thanks? For what, Potter? For casting a juvenile hex on my friend, just as you always do? I would rather lose Gryffindor the House Cup than ever bestow on you my gratitude."

"It was actually a jinx, Evans, not a hex," was the only response James could muster, whether out of embarrassment or annoyance. Even Sirius groaned that time.

Remus and Sirius had tried, to no avail, to recommend James change the rather obtuse approach he took when wooing Lily. After a series of subtle hints and then painfully honest interventions, the two finally admitted they would see the house elves liberated before they saw James Potter learn to use tact.

Lily's cheeks flushed with anger. "I also find it incredibly insulting you think I would ever require your help to defend myself … if I actually was being bothered," she spluttered. "If I need someone to show me just how large a head can inflate before it pops, I'll call for you. Until then, find someone better to pick on."

She turned abruptly and continued walking toward the castle, taking determined, angry strides. The Ravenclaw girl waved sweetly, a hint of apology on her face, before following her fiery-haired friend.

Remus thought for a second that James would be daft enough to get up and chase after Lily, trying to explain his actions or simply further deriding Snape.

Sirius must have sensed it as well, as he muttered, "Just let it go, mate."

"Whatever," James scoffed, trying to act dismissive as he settled back onto the grass, his arms crossed behind his head.

"Right. Well, gents," Sirius seemed keen to change the conversation. He clapped his hands together, his face alight with mischievous delight. "It's time for the Marauders to start devising plans for Hogwarts' Happy Holiday Hijinks of 1976. Any suggestions? Also, where the hell is Peter?"

"We can start making plans without him," said James, who had perked up at the idea of more mischief-making. "We'll fill him in later. Anyway, I've got a great idea…"

Remus caught Sirius' eye over the top of James' head, and he mouthed the word, "brilliant." Sirius winked back, his roguish grin never straying from his lips.

A warm, curdling sensation afflicted Remus' stomach. That too was becoming a somewhat regular occurrence when Sirius grinned at him, or winked at him, or, especially, when he rested his head or arm casually on Remus' shoulder.

Remus thought himself incredibly lucky. A few years ago, before heading to Scotland and entering Hogwarts, he felt a poignant sense of isolation and loneliness. His mind was infested with doubt that he could successfully engage with his peers, let alone make friends. When he was admitted to the wizarding school, he experienced hope for the first time in a long while. When he met Sirius, James and Peter, he found camaraderie and was awed by how positively it impacted his life.

The connection he felt with the trio, the ability to be himself – werewolf, nerd and all – was both liberating and comforting. They could match his intelligence with their own, help shield him from the worst parts of himself and guide him toward joy in places he had forgotten to look.

Even now, as they sat idling away the afternoon under glistening sunlight, discussing their next full-scale prank that was now tradition during Christmas, he felt at peace, content and happy. Never mind that the full moon was fast approaching at the end of the week. Never mind that, as he knew, many people only overlooked his seemingly odd behavior and appearance because he was friends with the monstrously popular James Potter and Sirius Black. The fact remained that he _was_ their friend. It gave him the comfort and security of normality, and as a result, kept him tethered to his sanity.


	2. On the Cusp of Change

"I'm over it! Finished! With every single bloody one of them."

Remus quickly closed his potions textbook and sat up on the couch where he was reclining. Sirius had bolted into their shared dormitory room, his usually placid eyes flashing with anger and his hand gripped on a crumpling piece of parchment.

"What's up, Sirius?"

It seemed a stupid question, for he already knew half the answer. No doubt, it was Sirius' family. But Remus was unsure on the specifics of what atrociously arrogant or prejudiced crime the Blacks might have committed now.

Sirius flopped onto the couch next to Remus, his jaw clenched, his lips skewed into an angry sneer.

"My dearest, sweetest mother Walburga just wrote me a lovely note, warning me about the company I keep, giving me a helpful diagram of how I'm performing at school compared to my brother, the impeccable Regulus – her word, not mine, of course. Then there's a truly nice bit about – how did she put it? – … oh yes, 'viciously violating the Black family honor.'"

Sirius was now reading from the letter itself, his voice caked in unadulterated rage. He contemptuously spit out each word as if the taste personally offended him.

" 'It goes without saying,'" he continued, his eyes resembling a storm as they scanned the parchment, "'yet I can't seem to get it through your conceitedly thick head no matter how many times I repeat it, but your father and I have sacrificed tremendously to give you the comfort and riches of the superior status you occupy.

"'To see you shamefully dismiss your upbringing, your blood, YOUR FAMILY, with juvenile antics and disobedience is like finding an unsightly wart on the otherwise perfectly pure body of the Blacks. To say I'm disappointed would be an understatement. Which brings me to the next topic. Your friendship, which I hear is questionably close, with the vile half-blood – '"

Sirius stopped abruptly and it didn't take his regretful sidelong glance to inform Remus this was about him. The 'vile half-blood' couldn't help feeling a bit withered to once again be under the harsh glare of irrational xenophobia. And Sirius' mother didn't even know he was a werewolf. If she did, Remus was positive she would dispatch herself physically to the school to extricate her son from his company.

Remus was grateful when Sirius didn't dwell on the discomfort of the moment but seamlessly picked up at a section of the letter that didn't concern him.

"Ah yes, then we get to the genuinely brilliant part. The part that's intrinsic to how all the smarmy Blacks deal among themselves – manipulation and blackmail," Sirius laughed but it was cold and acerbic. His well-bred accent thickened as he vocalized his mother's written words. "'We've promised you the inheritance that at one time seemed fitting for an honorable, worthwhile son. Enough money to provide you with luxury and the advancement you so deeply crave, and without which you will be cast into destitution and despair.' What the bloody hell? Advancement? I just… What is she even…? … anyway, 'But be warned. We are not immune to the temptation to change our will, and the terms of your enormous inheritance as the eldest Black boy, should we find reasonable justification to do so, albeit with the heaviest of hearts.' Can you believe her? Tossing in words like 'justification'? 'Heaviest of hearts'? As if she's altruistically seeking the most just and fair course instead of her own bleeding self-interest. Heavy hearts, my arse…"

He scoffed and shook his head. His tirade waned, but Remus had come to anticipate these occasional lulls when Sirius went into fits of righteous anger against his family. He wasn't done yet, Remus knew.

"You're better than the whole sodding lot of them, Padfoot," he said softly. "You know you are. Just ignore her…"

"How can I?" Here it came, the next wave. "When she finds every bloody opportunity to berate me? If I'm not at home, then she just sends letters to school. No matter where I go, or what I do. She grasps every chance to make my life a living hell. And my father is no better. And my aunts. My uncles. My grandparents. Wankers, the lot of them. I'm done."

"What do you mean you're done?" Remus asked gently.

This is how it usually went. Sirius would vent his valid emotions to Remus. The slightly younger but more even-tempered boy would listen. He would commiserate. He would assure. Eventually he would ask questions to get Sirius back in line with his logic, instead of giving preference to his emotions. Sirius was keenly intelligent – but he often felt first, and thought second.

"I mean," Sirius responded deliberately, his body still tense and his face determined, "that maybe I've had enough of this. Perhaps I don't wish to associate with the 'perfectly pure body of the Blacks' anymore. To hell with the inheritance. It's not worth it."

"But it's not just about the inheritance, is it? That's not all you would be giving up if you disowned your family. I mean, they're your _family_ … your mother and father and – "

"A mother who's a maniacal, hate-filled beast! A father with the spine of a squid who publicly touts progress, but who privately cowers to my mother and schemes for pure-blood domination. A family tree littered with speciesists and racists, who have done unthinkable things to those deemed 'unworthy.' I want no part of that."

"I know, I know," Remus sympathized, squeezing Sirius' shoulder. "But they're not all bad. What about your brother? You're the only positive influence in his life. Who knows what would happen if you weren't around? And your Uncle Alphard. And Andromeda and Ted and their daughter."

"So every rotten plant can produce a few good pieces of fruit," Sirius interrupted impatiently, rolling his eyes. "Besides, Dromeda is no longer recognized as part of the family. Lucky for her, I'd say…"

"My point is," Remus replied, matching patience to impatience, "you may not want to throw it _all_ away. Maybe talk with them when you're home for the holidays. Express to them what you're telling me, but, you know, without the beasts and squids."

"I have, Moony," Sirius' voice was strangled with exasperation. "I've made that my life's mission! I've covered my walls with Muggle paraphernalia. Muggle bands… even pictures of Muggle women so they stop trying to push me into betrothal with whichever cousin is trending in popularity for the season. And Gryffindor colors. I've rebutted every prejudiced remark they make. I've tried to make them see reason. It's useless."

Remus sighed. He didn't want Sirius to make any rash decisions that he might regret later. Steeling himself to refute his best friend once more, he tentatively offered, "But those are more passive approaches, which can be effective. And I know they take a lot of courage. However, perhaps a more straightforward, assertive strategy – "

"Give over, Remus," Sirius snapped. "Stop trying to be pragmatic. I didn't talk with you about this so you could keep trying to push me into some diplomatic action. It's not going to fucking work. Can't you just understand? And be on my side?"

Remus' face prickled with humiliation, as if he'd been slapped. He hated being chastised and, worse, the subsequent release of molten embarrassment. But Sirius didn't intend to lash out like that, nor did he mean to hurt Remus, and the latter knew it. He was incapable of holding angry outbursts against his friends when they were hurt or stressed or scared.

"You're right, Sirius. I'm sorry. I need to stop trying to always … patch things… believe me, I know it can be bloody annoying," Remus murmured, working to alter his expression to hide what he felt.

He must have done a poor job, for Sirius' stony expression melted immediately into an uncommon look of remorse. He closed his eyes and shook his head, his fingers massaging his tense forehead.

"I'm sorry, Moony. I'm sorry. It's not you. It's them. 'S all their bloody fault. They just make me ...," his voice trailed off, unable to find the right word to describe the mix of aggravation, disgust and mortification he felt. When he spoke again, his voice was uncommonly soft, almost hoarse, "You've done nothing wrong. At all. And you do understand. I know that. You and James are the only ones who've consistently been there for me. I'm acting like a downright prat."

The sincerity in Sirius' voice wiped away all remnants of Remus' humiliation, replacing them with the sole desire of comforting the other boy and alleviating his anguish.

"Hang on a moment. I've got something that might help."

He quickly walked over to his bedside table and snatched a glass bottle of amber liquid from the top drawer. He knew, as a prefect, this was a foolhardy move, and he would be ferociously admonished if McGonagall found out. But none of that mattered in this moment. It was late and they were safely concealed in their dormitory. Peter was in the Hospital Wing with the flu, and James was out, pushing his luck with curfew and undoubtedly up to no good.

Sirius smiled appreciatively when he saw the bottle of Firewhiskey in Remus' hand. "Now we're talking. A helpful gesture from you at last," he teased. "… But I'm surprised, Moony. I wouldn't've pegged you to have something like _that_ in your possession, Mr. Perfect Prefect. Maybe you're not quite the pure, innocent boy everyone thinks you are, huh?"

This time Sirius' wink, accompanied with the words he spoke, caused another reaction in Remus' body, in addition to the stomach squirming. He awkwardly cleared his throat, even as he acknowledged that doing so was sure to have no impact on the part of him that was unexpectedly affected.

Confused, he decided to simply get back to the matter at hand. He rolled his eyes at the stupid nickname his friends used and grinned nonchalantly, "I found it today on a couple of Slytherins who planned to drink it down in the courtyard. The idiots. Had to do my duty and confiscate it, right? I was already running late for history class, so I stowed it in my bag. I planned on turning it in to Professor McGonagall tomorrow."

"Right barmy of them," Sirius smirked. "Well, this is a much better use. As long as no filthy Slytherin lips have touched the rim and desecrated it."

"Don't worry, Padfoot," Remus smiled, pleased to see some of his friend's normal characteristics resurface. "It's unopened. But I don't have cups, or anything nearby to transfigure, so you'll have to share it with me. I hope my lips don't cause as much offense as those of some sniveling, Slytherin third-year sods."

He meant it as a joke. But once he said it, and after Sirius replied rather mirthlessly, "Course not. I don't mind sharing with your mouth a bit," it didn't seem funny at all. In fact, it just sent another pang of longing to that same area on Remus' body he never anticipated Sirius to affect.

He swallowed hard and busied himself taking off the top.

The conversation returned to comfortable territory as the two Marauders took turns sipping from the bottle, critiquing James' latest attempt to seduce Lily, finding insults for Sirius' family that corresponded to each letter in the alphabet and trying to find a way out of the detention they were facing after accidentally hexing their entire Care of Magical Creatures class.

The hands on the clock crept up toward a bright scarlet 12 and then slowly started to descend. As the liquid was reduced to less than an inch sloshing around the bottom of the bottle, Remus was somewhat surprised to find that Sirius' head had found its way onto chest.

His mind groggy with the late hour and intoxicating elixir, Remus could not stop himself from deeply inhaling the rich scent of Sirius' wavy, collar-length hair. He had never admitted it – even to himself before now – but he thought Padfoot's fittingly ebony hair was perfect. As were his high, sharp cheekbones and his supple, haughty mouth.

Their conversation started to taper off. Remus found himself continually getting lost in thought even when he believed he was responding out loud to things Sirius said. He never had felt more comfortable in his life. Not in terms of another human being, at least. Being with Sirius made the world feel unnaturally but wonderfully calm and inviting – strange, seeing as Remus found himself in trouble more often than not precisely because of his friend.

"I like it when you do that."

Remus was caught off guard by Sirius' blunt declaration. He thought his friend had drifted off to sleep some moments earlier.

"Do what?" he asked, lowering his chin so he could look down at Sirius' finely etched face. To his surprise, Sirius was not closing his eyes. Rather, they were gazing, groggily, half-lidded, up at him.

"Bite your bottom lip like that… when you're thinking. So, pretty much all the time. It's quite nice."

Remus' heartbeat quickened. This was … odd. He had never heard Sirius talk like this. Even disregarding the actual words he spoke, this tender, almost affectionate tone of voice was simply not a customary trademark of the brash, sarcastic Black.

Remus didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth, hoping it would do the work and issue an appropriate response, but nothing happened. He was, he realized, still locked in a gaze with Sirius.

"You're the best mate a guy could ask for, Moony," Sirius continued, somewhat lazily. Remus suspected the Firewhiskey had successfully taken its toll. "I can't really remember life without you, to be honest. It wasn't as bloody fantastic, I can tell you that."

Remus knew Sirius meant him and James equally when he talked of best mates, but he didn't want to bring James into whatever enchantment had settled over them. He didn't want to think about James at all, in this moment.

"The best…" Sirius repeated, even softer. His arm apparently, had wound its way around Remus' waist, and it tightened gently. In the same moment, Sirius tilted his head to press his slightly opened mouth against Remus' neck.

Remus froze, even as his blood began to boil. He feared if he adjusted even a bit, it would jolt Sirius out of this odd trance. And he was in a trance wasn't he? He had to be. No other possibility could account for what was happening. And then came the realization, poured over Remus like a bucket of ice water, that he loved what was happening. Whatever it was. And it was still transpiring.

Sirius seductively parted his lips enough to capture some of Remus' pale, sensitive skin in his mouth. When the boy's tongue joined in, taking turns with his lips to play along Remus' exposed neck and collar bone, the brunette had to clench his fist to stop from moaning.

A question hung over his head. _What do I do?_

Remus bit his lip, deliberating, trying to capture each sensation as Sirius sucked and kissed his neck and jaw, but also trying to clear his head so he could make a logical decision.

He wanted this much more than he realized. Now confronted with a trail of possibilities, he longed to see it through to its end. He wanted to gently push Sirius down onto his back, lean horizontally over his tempting body, press into him and kiss the beautiful lips he admired. He wanted to unbutton Sirius' shirt and run his hands over the plains and valleys of his muscular chest and stomach. He wanted … but that was too far. Much too far.

With another jolt of surprise, he felt Sirius' hand creep beneath his shirt, grasping for bare flesh along Remus' torso.

He's drunk.

It was a simple observation but it blared in Remus' brain like a much-needed, thoroughly unwanted alarm. Sirius was drunk. He was upset. And, probably, he didn't realize what he was doing. Maybe, in his mind, Sirius was using these machinations on a girl he wanted to sleep with.

_All that matters_ , Remus noted while his heart sank into the pit of his stomach, _is that making out with him right now would be taking advantage of him. Hell, it could be the end of our friendship. He'd hate to find out what he's doing._

"Remus," the word was barely discernible coming from Sirius' preoccupied mouth, currently pressed in the curve where Remus' neck met his shoulder.

Remus closed his eyes. _Damn, Sirius. Please. Don't do that._ But, while his mind exercised self-control, physical changes suggested his body had interpreted Sirius' muffled murmur, emitted along with a low, erotic moan, as a sign of victory.

_No, no. You must stop this now. Now!_

Remus often encountered these internal battles. But this time, he wanted so damn badly to lose.

_I will stop this, I will. But would it be so bad? … I mean, Sirius won't even remember … would it be so bad to just steal one kiss? Just one? I won't follow through with the getting-on-top-of-him part. I won't shag him._

_Yes, it would be bad. You'll_ _ feel _ _bad._

_You're right, you're right –_

"Moony..."

Screw that. Silencing the opposing voice in his head, Remus quickly turned toward his best friend, clasped both hands tentatively on either side of Sirius' face and ensconced Sirius' lips with his own desperate, eager mouth.

Sirius moaned again – the most fantastically arousing sound Remus had ever heard – and he didn't feel the slightest bit of regret. This was … indescribable. He had hesitantly kissed a couple girls before, and never had it made him feel like this. Those always awkward encounters were stale in comparison. Never did they engulf Remus with smoldering, gripping passion, with the dangerous but intoxicating blend of intense longing and pure satisfaction. He was sharing a kiss with a companion he trusted and admired like no other. That turned him on in a way nothing else had.

Sirius' lips parted willingly under Remus' influence. His tongue slid into Remus' mouth to explore the uncharted territory. Remus could feel his dick hardening, pressing into Sirius' muscular thigh.

He only had a few moments, a few precious moments, before he had to put an end to this in case it went too far. He wanted to make the most of it.

Remus delicately trailed his fingers along Sirius' cheek and into his silky, ink-black tresses. Taking a fistful of hair, he positioned Sirius' head to have even better access to his succulent mouth. Their kiss was slow and languid, punctuated by a rhythmic dance between their tongues, which kept time to the movement of their lips.

Remus didn't want to ravage Sirius' body; he wanted to savor it. From the surprisingly sweet taste of his mouth, to the sultry and heavily spiced scent of his hair and the velvety smoothness of his skin. Remus forced himself to keep his hands above Sirius' shoulders. If they dipped lower, he felt sure he would plummet and very soon find himself with a mouthful of his best friend's cock.

A dull buzzing in his brain was growing louder. _Stop … stop … stop_ , it seemed to iterate.

How could he stop when each nerve in his body was screeching for more? More flesh. More contact. More Sirius.

While Remus was trying to be discreet and conservative with the use of his hands, Sirius seemed to not share his reservation. It would appear he was as hungry to explore Remus' body as vice versa. His hands, slightly calloused from gripping his broom and Beater's bat during Quidditch matches, were under Remus' sweater and clawing into his bare back. First his chest, then his shoulder blades, back around to his slender but sinewy waist. When they started trailing down to the clasp on the Remus' trousers, his mind began to scream – in ecstasy, in exhortation.

_You. Must. Stop._

Gasping for air as he pulled away, Remus felt his body balk with displeasure. In no way was it ready to be disentangled from that of the other boy.

"Sirius," Remus whispered, frozen in place, his mind in limbo. Now what? Half of him wanted to go back in for a second, deeper kiss; half of him knew he should usher his best friend to bed.

Sirius' eyes fogged with confusion. Was he puzzled as to why Remus stopped so abruptly? Or was he coming to the horrifying realization that the mouth he had thoroughly snogged belonged to one of his close mates?

"Moony?"

That wasn't helpful. It brought Remus no closer to an answer. Inhaling deeply, he begrudgingly accepted what was the right course of action.

"Come on, Pads. Let's get you to bed. Looks like we're not going to figure out any familial issues tonight."

Sirius nodded, still looking a bit dazed, and slowly stood up, his arm slung around Remus' shoulder. Remus lowered his hand to grasp Sirius' waist. _For balance_ , he justified.

"Just a couple steps, mate," he encouraged.

"Hey, Moony."

Remus stayed silent, but his pulse quickened with anticipation. Or was it dread?

"Moony. I don't know, but do you reckon…"

The next few words were a slur. Sirius dropped his head to rest against Remus'. The brunette glanced over to find his friend's eyes had fallen shut. Remus let out the breath he was holding in. He felt… what exactly? Unsatisfied, irritated, elated. Warry about feeling any of those emotions at all.

"Come on, Padfoot. Here we are. Now, you get some rest."

He gently lowered the raven-haired boy onto his bed and positioned his head on his pillow. The way Sirius' shaggy black curls fanned the scarlet pillow and his dark lashes contrasted his almost porcelain skin – Remus couldn't catch his breath, and it only aided to make his affected mind more disoriented.

He pulled a blanket up to Sirius' chest and made sure it was molded around his friend's limbs, to keep him warm.

"G'night, Pads," he whispered, not expecting a response, but wanting to send well wishes to cover Sirius' sleep none the less. Quickly, before he could stop himself, he leaned down and lightly kissed Sirius' flushed cheek.

That was all he would take tonight. As he headed for his own bed, he heard a soft groan followed by, "Thanks, Moony."

Physically aching for sleep but mentally alert, Remus crawled into bed. In the following hours, his sleep was shallow, as if he was drifting somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. He was kept there by a barrage of guilt and dread about what would happen the next morning. Along with all that was a nagging question that demanded to know when being with Sirius had started to make him feel that, inside, he was brimming with warm, liquid butter. And why, exactly, that was.


	3. Maintaining the Status Quo

Remus woke with an unpleasant jolt the following morning, feeling hungover.

_Scratch that. I am hungover._

After-effects of the supple amount of Firewhiskey he had consumed the previous night were aggressive and undeniable, pushing against his jumbled brain with surprising force. But he felt hungover in another way, too, as if he had consumed a different but equally potent drug.

Then it hit him.

Sirius.

His breath shuddered with an involuntary ripple of arousal that he found rather unnecessary. Filled with chagrin, he glanced over to his roommate. He hadn't remembered to close the curtains hanging around Sirius' bed last night – or, rather, this morning – which granted him the sight of his friend's lithe half-dressed body tangled in blankets, his face turned toward the wall, his chest rising and falling with the breathing of comfortable slumber.

Remus groaned inwardly and scrunched his eyes shut, wanting to will away the confusion and shame triggered by memories of what had transpired the night before. There was another strand of emotion, wound between those two – a thread of blatant pleasure derived from thoughts of how Sirius' eager lips felt against his neck, his shoulder and – Remus' breath caught – his mouth.

He knew better than to sit stewing in his bed. It would just drive him mad. Besides, he had a meeting with the other prefects and the head boy and girl in – _damn, twenty minutes_ – and he planned to squeeze in some studying for end-of-term exams before breakfast.

As he hurriedly sat up, he was reminded by an unwelcome rush of pain in his temples that he'd accumulated only a couple hours of ragged, unsatisfying sleep.

Swinging his legs out of bed, he quickly and haphazardly dressed, cursing himself for this unnaturally careless behavior. With a final glance at the form of a sleeping Sirius – which sent his pathetically besotted heart sliding with emotion – he headed out of their room.

As he descended the moving staircase and then walked down a long corridor toward Professor Flitwick's classroom, where leadership meetings were held weekly on Fridays, he shuffled through each individual memory from those sacred hours spent with Sirius, and then considered the parts as a whole.

He should just talk to Sirius about what happened, right? It was the logical recourse, Remus believed. Then there might be a chance in hell for their friendship to settle back into its normal routine, and for them both to mold the previous night's interaction into a juvenile, "you-won't-believe-how-sloshed-we-were" sort of story.

… But did he want that? If his repressed desire for Sirius – desire he was now recognizing for what it truly was – could be somehow reciprocated by the other boy, would he want that?

_Yes_.

The answer was in Remus' mind before he could finish the question. Sometimes the truth was most capable of showing its face when not sought after by a cavalry of cautionary analytics.

But Remus' overactive mind couldn't stop at the truth. It was automatically prepared with a rebuttal.

_What about Prongs? And Wormtail? What about the Marauders?_

In pursuing Sirius as a … Remus glossed over the concept, too nervous to acknowledge its name … would he be forsaking the Sirius that was his friend?

"Morning, Remus."

Recognizing the sturdy, confident voice of his fellow Gryffindor prefect coming from behind him, Remus answered, "Good morning, Lily," even as he paused to fall in step with the red-head.

Of their quartet, Remus was the only one Lily would address by first name. When they both were made prefects the year prior – and she eventually concluded he differed vastly from the "arrogant prats" he associated with – they started developing a friendship.

Consequently, Remus wound up in a position akin to being sandwiched between two formidable forces – particularly if those forces were constantly butting heads and generating a litany of ridiculously immature insults.

James, who was slightly jealous of the time Remus got to spend with Lily, at first denounced their, Remus and Lily's, burgeoning friendship. His attitude magically altered one day, however, when he started to view Remus as the portkey between reality and his vision of a fantastical world where Lily existed as his girlfriend.

Somehow, this resulted in Remus noticing the dichotomy embedded in his personality more acutely; he was perpetually torn by the struggle of whether to put responsibility and maturity above his companions and his own love of fun.

Lily often acted the part of his conscience, reminding him of expectations bestowed on him and reinforcing his inner desire to succeed. Because he admired and respected her, her withering stare of disapproval when he got detention with Sirius and James was one of few consequences that could actually make him feel a tad guilty.

Even now, when she remarked casually, "Late night?" there was a note of reproach, as if she somehow realized, shrewd as she was, that Remus was a bit ropey. She also suspected, no doubt, that his poorly combed hair and slightly puffy eyes didn't result from taking Arithmancy practice tests until the wee hours of the morning.

Remus smiled sheepishly, knowing there was no point devising an excuse. "Pad – Sirius was having a rough go of it last night. I suppose we stayed up a bit too late talking."

His cheeks warmed automatically when his mind suddenly forced on him rousing images of Sirius' wet lips and seductive gaze.

"Hmmmm…" Lily pursed her lips and eyed Remus critically. While Remus hated to think of her correctly guessing illegal libations were shared between the pair, he determined that was preferable to her somehow deducing what else was shared.

"You have plans for the holiday?" Remus was desperate to change the subject and get Lily to stop perusing his face, which he pictured to be riddled with guilt. She gave Remus one more pointed stare and then faced forward.

"Just heading home to Cokeworth to see my folks and sister," she responded conversationally, seeming to let the matter go without further reproof. It was this sort of gracious action that made Remus terribly fond of Lily.

"I'm happy to spend Christmas with my family," she continued, a bit hesitantly. Remus knew she was thinking of her strained relationship with Petunia and the tension it caused at home. "They were on vacation to Canada last year, and I wasn't able to join them. I just stayed at school, which wasn't all bad. Quite enjoyable, actually. Had the place almost entirely to myself, and it's always decorated so exquisitely for the holidays, like a winter wonderland. Five years, and I still get enchanted by the indoor snow. Best of all, though, I didn't have to deal with that insufferable Potter."

Immediately she winced. It was another sign of her fine character that she made an effort to minimize her abuse of James when Remus was around.

He gave an understanding smile to let her know it was alright. After all, Remus didn't love his friend because he thought him perfect. He just figured contending with James' adolescent arrogance – spawned by the constant doting and attention of two infatuated parents – was a small price to pay for the infinitely more valuable return his friendship yielded.

"You looking forward to the Yuletide Gala?" Lily asked, nodding toward the house elves who were hanging bright bushy garlands of evergreen in preparation for Christmas festivities.

Geopolitical circumstances were causing strain among Britain's wizarding world. Whispers of war and tremors of fear coursed through the student body these days. In an effort to alleviate heavy spirits during the holiday season, the Hogwarts staff had decided to host this special event. Likely to gird the students with a little hopeful positivity before sending them off to face a brutal reality that intensified when outside the protective walls of school, Remus had concluded.

"I suppose," he responded with a shrug. "To be honest, social functions can be a bit taxing."

Silently he added, _But I have Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. They'll make it bearable._

As if reading his mind, Lily followed up with, "Well, I'm sure your lot has grand plans to make it a more …. _interesting_ affair than the teachers anticipate, or want, seeing as it's intended to be an illustrious soiree."

Remus shrugged, trying suppress the grin wanting to play with his mouth. Of course they would. Lily shook her head in disapproval, but Remus knew that beneath the hoity and polished exterior she exhibited, she had a keen sense of humor and often was secretly amused by the Marauders' antics.

"Are you going with anyone?" she continued.

"Er – not at this time. And I didn't plan on it. Not sure I could muster the courage." For some stupid reason, he thought of Sirius.

"Well, if you change your mind, you might consider one of the Gryffindor fifth-years. Say, I don't know … Cecille Troulain?"

Surprised by her suggestion, Remus' head jerked so he could give her a quizzical look. "Really? Why is that?"

Lily let out a single huff and rolled her eyes. "Oh, I don't know, Remus… could it possibly be that she fancies you? And has said a thousand times that she wants to go with you? And has pleaded with me to drop the hint to you?"

Remus was nonplussed. He tried to picture Cecille in his mind – which kept crowding with thoughts of Sirius, damn it – and remember a single conversation they'd ever had.

"Just think about it. Please, Remus," Lily was begging but in an exhausted rather than desperate sort of way. "Cecille is my friend and I adore her, but I swear to Merlin, if I have to listen to her blather on about you one more time...," she paused to clench her jaw and raise her eyes to the ceiling in a display of visible exasperation. "I know she expected me to do this more artfully but, honestly, it's not as if I've nothing better to do with my time than try to fix the pair of you up. I'm not a sodding matchmaker."

In true Lily fashion, she had hastily progressed from being flustered to defensive and then abrasive, as if to conceal how uncomfortable she felt. Remus had to stifle a chuckle when she fixed him with almost challenging eyes.

"Right, Lily, I'll think about," he promised, though it was hard to envision soliciting Cecille. And even more so, how an evening between them could evolve into anything remotely delightful when Remus felt severely lacking in knowledge on the girl's particulars.

"Thank you," Lily sighed with a genuine smile, pushing open Flitwick's door, which they arrived at in the nick of time to catch the start of the meeting. "Now my obligation as a friend is done, I did as I said I would, and maybe she will shut up about you. I mean, you're a good person, and all. But she uses an unnecessary lot of," she blushed, "… adjectives."

When Remus relayed the conversation to James as they sat down for breakfast, he expected his friend to laugh with him at the absurdity of it all. Him, the timid werewolf, dancing and flirting with a girl under the luster of floating candles and Christmas lights. The picture just didn't fit.

And Remus was accustomed to his mates poking good-natured fun at his feeble romantic attempts and preference for reading books over engaging in salacious encounters in shadowy corners of the castle. However, James, opportunist that he was, looked utterly thrilled at the idea.

"That's perfect, Moony!"

"Wait… what? Are you serious?"

"Yeah, of course," James' voice grew as he spoke, his eyes wide with excitement. "You invite her. She'll no doubt be hanging around Evans all night – girls travel in packs, y'know. And she'll be in a right chipper mood. We'll talk, and maybe even dance. She'll finally get to see how suave I can be, how gentlemanly. There'll be mistletoe. Don't you see? This could be the chance we've been waiting for."

Remus ignored the urge to correct "we" to "I" and to remind his friend that Lily had been given more than enough opportunities during the past five and a half years to see how suave James thought he was. "But Prongs, I don't know a thing about Cecille."

"She's that one there, sitting one down from Evans," James enthusiastically pointed to a pretty girl with thick chestnut brown curls who blushed and whispered to the friend on her right when she saw James' gesture. "Not bad, is she?"

Remus quickly pulled James' pointing hand down, his own face warming uncomfortably with humiliation. "For the love of Merlin, I know _who_ she is, James. I meant, I don't know _her_. We've barely talked, if at all. I'm not interested and it seems a bit dickish to string her along."

"Oh come _on_ , Moony," James rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Don't be such a prudish git. You don't have to have _feelings_ for her to enjoy a jolly evening of dancing and butterbeer and lecherous fun. All that nonsense," he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Might do you some good to, you know, loosen up after exams. You'll be all tense waiting for results. And you've certainly waited bloody long enough to do the deed."

Remus didn't know whether to be affronted or amused by James' impish taunting.

"C'mon, Moony!" he continued, the urgency in his voice making it sound like he needed Remus to cure him of a terminal disease, not invite a vague acquaintance to a school function. "This is the perfect opportunity for both of us."

"The perfect opportunity for what?"

Remus froze. He knew it would be natural to turn and glance at Sirius as he slid onto the bench beside him, but he couldn't. He was petrified. James, of course, didn't notice the missed beat but at once started campaigning Sirius to be on his side and impel Remus into action.

"Evans says Cecille wants Moony here to invite her to the Yuletide Gala. Apparently, Cecille has quite a weakness for bookish werewolves who act like they're 85. Something about the fashionable cardigans, no doubt."

"Does she now?"

Remus took a silent deep breath and stole a glance to his right. He wanted to find some meaning in Sirius' word, some understanding in his expression, but the raven-haired boy simply gave him a teasing grin to match James', suggesting nothing was out of the ordinary. And that seemed odd.

Did Sirius have no recollection of the previous night? Shouldn't he feel as awkward and evasive as Remus did? And did his blasted hair always fall with such charming grace across his forehead?

"Of course, he has to do it, right?" James continued, gesticulating for emphasis. "I told him this could be a major turning point for me and Evans. He can't abandon the Marauders' cause like that, can he?"

At that, Remus couldn't help releasing a short laugh, despite how odd it was for Sirius to be acting distinctly not odd, hungrily devouring bacon and bread like any other morning, and also despite how easily Sirius' presence elevated his heart rate. "Since when did you seducing Lily become our cause?"

"It's one of them, at least," James answered forcefully. "It's part of our creed."

"We don't have a creed," Sirius countered nonchalantly.

"We should have a creed," James answered with a defiant glare at Sirius, who was supposed to back him up always. "But that's beside the point. You're going to ask Cecille to the dance, Moony. Case closed. Padfoot and I will be there alongside you the whole night, and give you pointers as needed. We can even help you beforehand with your snogging technique."

Remus nearly choked on the pumpkin juice he was drinking. Coughing, he couldn't help thinking somewhat bitterly, _Oh the irony of it all._

"You 'right there, mate?" James asked with a confused look as if he found Remus' reaction – or rather, overreaction – a bit strange. Sirius, on the other hand, looked unfazed.

Desperate to not betray his feelings, Remus finished coughing and then gave James a wry smile as he answered dryly, "I just find it comical, I suppose, to think of being advised in how to snog by someone who doesn't have a clue how to do it. Or at least never has properly."

James looked slightly appalled. Sirius gave a chuckle and added lackadaisically, "He's right about that, Prongs. Probably best to leave the lessons to me. I, for one, actually know what I'm doing. I can make sure Moony is going about it the right way."

The bite of toast in Remus' mouth suddenly became hard to chew. He wanted to swallow but it seemed impossible considering the cottony dry nature of his throat. He could feel Sirius' eyes on him, but he refused to return the look. He didn't know what he would find in the gaze, or worse, what he hoped to find. Also, a discussion about snogging and getting an eyeful of his gorgeous crush just didn't sound like a good mix.

James' embarrassment thickened momentarily, but his braggadocio wouldn't let it stick. With a brazen laugh, he shot back, "I have, too! I've done it loads of times, you know that. And lot more than snogging, too. Sod off, both of you. Tossers."

"You started it, mate," Remus responded, miraculously finding a way to speak and even sound normal although his mind was ruminating on the innuendo of Sirius' words. Did he realize what he said?

_Stop it. This is an innocuous conversation_ , Remus reminded himself sternly. _The kind we have all the damn time. It doesn't mean a thing._ Yet this time, his bloody heart was vigorously rapping against the inside of his chest, threatening to pound its way out and reveal Remus' secret.

"Whatever," James dismissed, becoming excited once again, his bright hazel eyes flashing behind his glasses. "The important issue at hand is that you're going to the gala with Cecille, so we can fraternize with Lily and her friends, right? For me, Moony. C'mon. You'll do it, right?"

Nothing was more difficult for Remus than turning down his friends. Especially when James gave him that sodding pathetic and pleading look. Besides, what did he have to lose? He had developed illicit feelings for his best mate, but Sirius seemed intent to ignore – or likely didn't remember – the events of the previous night. Remus figured he should forget, as well.

After all, going to a school social event hung on the arm of the swaggering, sexy Sirius Black was so far out of the question for many reasons. And who knew? Perhaps spending an evening with Cecille – and figuring out how old she was, where she came from, what she liked to do, all the things Remus figured one should know _before_ a date – would drive these crippling emotions out of his mind and body, or at least send them deeper into hiding.

Remus sighed and shrugged, which his friends had come to rightly interpret as signs of capitulation. James whooped, and Sirius said, "Good on you, mate." He flashed Remus a strange smirk that was gone before Remus could mentally imprint it for later dissection.

As the trio stood up and headed to their first class, with Sirius and James enthusiastically discussing their upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, Remus resolved in his mind that this is how it should be. The three of them – and Peter, of course – as best friends. Companions. To revel in each other's mischief-making, compare exam marks and get through the full moon each month. Remus desperately needed his friends. He needed Sirius, and this was how he had him.

He would have to forget the other stuff, like his newfound appreciation for Sirius' fit body and alluring face, or contemplating how pleasant it would be to combine the depth and security of a lengthy, meaningful friendship with the excitement of sexual awakening.

_This is how it is, how it should be_ , he surmised. _We are meant to make fun of each other's love lives, not be them_.


	4. Securing an Ally

As Remus soon discovered, putting to rest awakened feelings of an amorous nature was simple in theory, but extremely difficult in execution.

It was especially troublesome, he came to realize bitterly, that Sirius was not by definition "not sexy." In fact, Sirius was, in every particular, quite the opposite.

Day by day, Remus was starting to feel an unwelcome sense of solidarity with the bevvy of admirers who swooned when Sirius sniggered at their jokes or paid them an extra bit of attention during supper.

One afternoon, he found himself distractedly gazing at his friend in the library when they were supposed to be studying for their Divination class. Before Sirius could notice, Remus happened to catch a nearby fourth-year Hufflepuff resting her chin on her fist, aimlessly turning page after page of a book she obviously wasn't reading and giving Sirius a wistful look that, Remus suspected with a bit of disgust, probably more or less matched the one he was wearing. Cursing himself, Remus quickly turned his attention back toward "Austere Oracles of Olde."

 _You do realize_ , he chided himself, _that you're acting as bloody pathetic as these girls who only fancy Sirius because he's a member of the esteemed Black family. Or more likely, because he's well fit. With his dulcet voice and his stupid inability to ever pull himself together properly … and yet he somehow manages to look sodding fantastic because of it_.

Even now, when Remus chanced a hasty glance at Sirius, he noticed the teenager's tie, striped with rich gold and scarlet, was loose and slightly askew; the top three buttons of his white school shirt were unfastened, no doubt deliberately, creating a tantalizing triangle of pale flesh. Remus shook his head, the corners of his mouth crooked up with amusement and appreciation.

 _He's too charming for his own good_ , Remus continued musing, although he determinedly kept his eyes locked on his textbook. _But isn't that what everyone thinks? Sirius Black, with his sharp mind and captivating smile. Brimming with wit, confidence and audacity. Always flouting authority. It's ridiculous. I'm just like them_.

A shot of righteous anger pulsed through Remus.

 _But I'm not_! He defended himself hotly, chewing at the skin around his thumbnail and letting the black text on the page blur. _It's more than that. I don't fancy Sirius just because he's adorable and clever. And certainly not for his wealth and his family. I know him. I sat with him in the hospital hours upon hours when he was ill for a week during third year. And when he gets moody and impossible after losing a Quidditch match, I know exactly how to cheer him up. I know how obsessive he becomes whenever a new idea gets lodged in his stubborn brain. I put up with his pouting and grouchiness when something doesn't go his way. I want all that, though. Dear god, do I want it. I wouldn't change a –_

"I don't understand how you're able to concentrate so hard on this rubbish."

Sirius' whisper pulled Remus back from his reverie with a small start.

"Oh, well, y'know," his mind raced to find a clever response. Failing to do so – likely because it hadn't quite returned from running wild with unbidden thoughts of holding Sirius in his arms and hardily kissing him – Remus was forced to finish feebly, "just want a good grade. It's an important subject, after all."

Sirius tossed back his head with laughter. His eyebrows tented skeptically and his enchanting eyes impugned Remus when he answered, "Oh, come off it, Moony. You think Divination as a subject is codswallop, and we all know it. You hate the class. Just admit it."

"Well, Padfoot, if you all know it, not much need for me to admit it, is there? … And _of_ _course_ it's absolute rubbish."

Sirius grinned at Remus' admission.

"However," Remus continued earnestly, ignoring Sirius' self-satisfied smile, "just because it's a thoroughly woolly subject doesn't mean I don't want to do well. I still need top marks. And besides, Professor Jindal is getting up in age. I overheard her telling Professor Slughorn she feels she's not as adept at the whole teaching gig as she used to be. I want her to feel like she's doing a proper job, y'know? She may be batty as hell, but she's a decent person."

Sirius scoffed. "For Merlin's sake, Moony, are you completely incapable of being selfish?" He slightly shook his head, as if to mock Remus' constant desire to please others, but the grin gracing his lips turned tender.

Remus blushed slightly and flipped off Sirius, all the while trying to cleanse his insides of grotesquely thick, bubbling affection.

Sirius just grinned wider. He latched his hands behind his head and rocked back in his chair. "Well, here's an idea. Seeing as ol' Jindal is regrettably on her way out of here in the next few years, regardless – don't give me that look, Moony, she's nearly 100 – maybe you should help me out instead."

"You don't need help with Divination," Remus remarked suspiciously. "We all decided to take this course for an easy 'O.' And you outperform me, most of the time."

"It's all due to my spectacular panache," Sirius chortled mischievously. "It's not overly difficult to keep predicting breathtakingly painful and elaborate ways to die in the near future that rouse a bit of sympathy. Or make tea leaf-reading a bit more dramatic."

"You're certainly not lacking in the dramatics department," Remus agreed drily. He tried not to smile remembering a class period the previous week during which Sirius had capped off identifying an auspicious omen in his teacup by then unraveling into a convincing fit of hysterics that moved Professor Jindal to let him leave class early and 'rest his nerves.' Sirius spent the remainder of the hour gleefully perfecting their next batch of Polyjuice Potion. "I might add you also have quite the uncanny knack for paying 98-year-old women exquisite compliments on a daily basis."

Sirius chuckled, and shrugged noncommittally. "I do what I have to. That's the mark of a brilliant wizard, isn't it?"

"It's the mark of _something_ ," Remus responded pointedly, his eyebrows raised. He loved that patented Sirius smirk, but in this moment, he also despised it. He felt he paid Sirius' lips a lot more attention than was generally acceptable or necessary among friends.

"Anyway," Sirius dismissed Remus' perceived jibe with a wave of his hand, "I wasn't talking about needing help with Divination class. I have some important business in Hogsmeade to attend to. Care for a covert afternoon out on the town with me? We have a couple hours before dinner. We can easily make it there and back."

Remus hesitated briefly. Not because he was worried about sneaking off the castle grounds – they had perfected the art of not getting caught years ago. Rather, he remained slightly uncomfortable being alone with Sirius for extended periods of time. When they were one on one, he constantly felt the imposing presence of things they should discuss – a certain night they should address – but he was unsure if the palpable tension existed only in his imagination.

"Come on, Moony," Sirius urged, gripping Remus' forearm and sending a searing sensation throughout his body. "We've been cooped up here far too long, what with the nasty weather and all. I'm incredibly bored. I don't want to go all by myself. And – hear that? Honeydukes is calling your name. My treat."

Remus' misgivings dissolved. He chuckled, "Hmmm… You certainly do know how to bargain."

Sirius grinned devilishly in return and pushed out of his chair with a noisy scrape. Remus did the same, hastily packing his books and half-finished star charts into his bag.

Smiling to himself and secretly relishing his view from behind, Remus followed Sirius toward the door of the library. For some reason, he couldn't help casting a backward glance at the Hufflepuff girl. Her face was set in detectable disappointment, her arms crossed on top of the table.

Remus felt a predictable twinge of sympathy at her displeasure, but that response couldn't withstand the subsequent surge of smugness as he acknowledged that he, not her, would be spending a superb afternoon joking and laughing with Sirius.

He selfishly enjoyed the sense of achievement without his usual guilt. True, he normally did like to make others happy at any cost. But he never claimed to be a saint.

* * *

The evening of the Yuletide Gala rode in on the back of a ferocious winter blizzard and a blast of trepidation for Remus.

He had successfully managed to secure a date with Cecille for the event. At least he believed he had.

When he asked her the week prior, she had turned a shocking shade of magenta and moved her head in a manner that resembled nodding, before succumbing to an outburst of giggles and sprinting away, leaving Remus a bit dazed and less than confident about the prospect of spending an evening with her.

He was currently delaying the inevitable, resting his forehead against the large frozen window in their dormitory and visually tracing the leafy curls and spirals formed by threads of white frost on the glass.

James was still wrestling with his unruly hair in the loo. Sirius had been primping in front of a mirror, fresh from the shower and with naught but a towel wrapped tightly round the midsection of his damp, glistening body, when Remus had clumsily excused himself to find respite in their room.

Normally, the loo seemed more than spacious enough for all the Marauders to collectively occupy. But that was before Remus discovered he couldn't be confined in the same area as Sirius without feeling almost claustrophobically crowded by his presence. In particular, loos, with their steamy heat and propensity to provoke nudity, felt uncomfortably small when shared with Sirius.

"Moony, could you help me with this?"

Peter was suddenly at Remus' elbow, his facial features drooping with consternation. His thick fingers fumbled with a navy blue tie, the obvious culprit instigating his frown.

Remus gave a smile and nod and went to work manipulating the soft silk. Squinting with concentration as he perfected his work, he asked, "Why didn't you ask Padfoot to help you? He's a lot better than me at this sort of stuff."

"Not a chance," Peter chuckled, his blond head tilted back to give Remus' hands more room to move. "All I want is for it to be tied nice, clean and straightforward-like. Had I asked Sirius, I would wind up sporting some ridiculous and elaborate mess that's supposed to be the latest fashion in London but just makes you look like a posh wanker."

Remus laughed, drawing back and inspecting the bow he'd crafted. "I suppose that's true."

"Course, _he_ can pull it off nicely, but he refuses to understand we're not all suited to share his rather eccentric style. And when you do decide to give it a go, he mocks you relentlessly for looking like a filthy poser!"

"Nobody can be Sirius like Sirius," Remus agreed, thinking back through the several occasions when both Peter and Sirius had done exactly that.

Their friend was a bit of a contradiction wrapped in an anomaly. When he wasn't wearing purposely grungy clothes influenced by the establishment-bashing youth of London's underground punk movement, he was outfitted in lavish coats, jewel-toned sweaters and fitted trousers that betrayed his rather refined good taste. Few people had try as hard as he did to actually look bad.

"Besides, he's still cocking about in the bathroom. I'm sure he has one or two tendrils of hair that aren't setting at _just_ quite the right angle, yet."

Normally, Sirius' hair was an ongoing source of piss-taking fodder enjoyed by the other Marauders. Out of habit, Remus shared Peter's knowing look and grinned appreciatively at his joke. But he also felt oddly defensive. Luckily, he was saved from having to respond by the hurried, noisy entrance of James, followed closely by a sauntering Sirius.

It wasn't until James had to repeat himself and ask in a voice tinged with impatience, "Oi, I said, are you ready?" that Remus became aware he was staring most blatantly at Sirius and, consequently, was at a loss for words.

Sporting sleek dress robes of rich charcoal that showcased the silver of his eyes, and with his hair fringing his elegant face in slightly tighter curls than he normally allowed, Sirius was quite the vision, Remus thought. Rather than feeling embarrassed to have James scowling at him curiously, Remus' first reaction was to realize with a sense of wonder that behind James' shoulder, Sirius was unabashedly returning his gaze, his mouth arced in a sly smile that Remus would have interpreted as flirtatious if he didn't know he was the recipient.

Peter, who apparently determined Remus' lack of response must be due to James' question being aimed at him, awkwardly responded, "Yep, ready when you are."

Remus cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from Sirius to add, "Let's get this over with."

"That's the spirit, Moony," James mocked playfully, slapping Remus on the back as they made their way out of their dorm.

At the bottom of the stairs, three girls fidgeted and giggled, looking like vibrant spring flower blossoms in billows of bright pink, purple and yellow tulle and taffeta. James, wanting to make himself more available to Lily, had decided to go stag – which spurred numerous rudimentary jokes about the matter in the weeks leading up to the gala.

Remus' stomach lurched. He couldn't decide, though, whether he was more apprehensive about escorting Cecille, whose large brown eyes were pinned adoringly on him, or the idea of watching Sirius saccharinely consort with Elizabeth Lucas, a strikingly pretty Ravenclaw who made it clear she shared Remus' positive opinion regarding how Sirius looked that evening.

 _It doesn't matter_ , he instructed himself, trying to overcome unsavory mental images of Elizabeth Lucas straddling a half-naked Sirius while she enthusiastically kissed his lips. _I made a commitment to Cecille. And I'm going to do this right. She doesn't deserve to be treated carelessly, no matter what_.

Emboldened by his resolve, Remus smiled broadly at his date and took her hand as they made their way toward the Great Hall.

The room, from floor to towering ceiling, had been dressed in its holiday best. There was the traditional giant fir tree, its fragrant boughs decked with strands of shimmering ribbon, softly cooing turtle doves, frosted pinecones, curlicues of striped peppermint and glowing candles. The tall walls were laden with ornamental wreaths, heavy green and red garlands and drooping, glossy icicles. The suits of armor were joined together in a chorus of melodious carols.

Among the arriving students, the castle's resident ghosts milled about, seeming slightly more jovial than usual. Most of the professors were present, looking dapper in varying shades of dress robes and stunning gowns.

Remus had taken only a few steps into the hall when he was stopped by James' hand firmly gripping his arm.

"There she is," he murmured breathlessly.

Remus followed his gaze to find Lily standing among a small circle of friends. The shiny emerald dress draping from her body was suited perfectly to her matching eyes, wavy red hair and pale skin. She laughed freely at something her friend, Alice Prewett, said and James released a slow, whistling exhale.

"Mother of Merlin, she's bloody fantastic, isn't she?"

This was such a common topic of conversation between the four boys, one in which Remus had consistently made his favorable opinion of Lily known without being so expressive as to pique James' jealousy. Still, he humored James by humming in agreement.

Suddenly, a tall brunet boy appeared by Lily's side, slipping a somewhat possessive arm around her slender waist. She spared him a quick glance, but then continued talking with Alice.

"Is that – ? But it can't…. bloody hell. It's that sodding Arnold Collins," James' eyes narrowed with intense dislike, and also obvious disappointment. "But why on earth would she come with a bleeding fool like him?"

"I don't know," Remus answered, feeling an augmented flow of sympathy for James' situation. Remus knew exactly how he felt.

"She's far too clever for him! Are they going together now?" James asked, almost accusingly, as if Remus would somehow be responsible if indeed they were.

"Well, I've seen them talking a bit during our prefect activities," Remus admitted reluctantly. "But I didn't think there was much to tell. She never seemed overly interested. But you know Lily… she doesn't swoon. She's too sure of herself for that."

Sirius, who had sidled up on the other side of James and quickly picked up on the issue, interjected, "You never know, mate. They could just be here together as friends. Like Remus and I are with Cecille and Elizabeth. Don't worry about it. Arnold's a stupid git anyway."

As James nodded uncertainly, Remus noticed the way his heart leapt in response to Sirius verifying he didn't consider himself dating Elizabeth. Sirius' words also reminded Remus of the girl on his left, who was eagerly stretching her neck to see throughout the hall and trying not to appear overly impatient.

"The operation is still on for precisely 9:37, correct?" Remus whispered to his friends, turning his face out of Cecille's earshot.

"Yep," the two answered in unison. James forgot his crushing disappointment long enough to grin deviously.

Remus did his best to give Cecille his undivided attention throughout the next couple hours. The girl could not be described as an enthralling conversationalist, although her verbosity was pervasive.

While not providing a substantial distraction, it was entertaining to see James – who magically appeared each time Remus and Cecille joined Lily's circle – go out of his way to be on his best behavior and show much more grace than normal. Each time she made an airheaded comment, Remus would watch James' eyes slightly bulge, his mouth tightening to prevent the formation of a derisive smirk and stop an undoubtedly witty and sardonic retort from tripping off his tongue. He would then give a forced smile and answer so sincerely that only Remus could detect the patronizing undertone.

Surprisingly, Remus was most at ease when they were dancing. Because of his mother's influence, he was an accomplished dancer. She had always been a wonderfully enchanting and whimsical person. Remus had countless fond memories of her joyfully dancing and singing throughout their numerous homes, creating the best of every situation and making music simply in the way she lived her life.

Although she was muggle-born, Hope Howell had nevertheless bewitched Remus' father, Lyall, from day one. He had eyes only for her, and Remus used to love watching him gaze adoringly whenever she entered the room. Lyall was a sturdy, serious, composed fellow – a respected member of the Ministry of Magic and renowned for his hardline political postures – but for her, for Hope, he would dance.

At one point, Sirius sank to a chair beside Remus while he was taking a rest and Cecille was fetching a refill of butterbeer.

"Showing off, are we, Moony?" Sirius teased good-naturedly, leaning back in the chair and crossing his outstretched legs in front of him.

"How do you mean?" Remus asked, legitimately confused, and trying to ignore Sirius' attractively flushed cheeks and disheveled clothes.

"I didn't know you could dance like that," Sirius answered, gesturing toward the still heavily occupied dancefloor.

"Well, Padfoot, I'm not prone to display my talent by waltzing about the common room at random," Remus shrugged, hoping it would quell the oncoming blush threatening his cheeks.

Sirius laughed. "Thank Merlin for that – might make you seem a bit loony, and you already face that challenge more than enough. But, I must say," a curious sincerity settled over his countenance, "you are full of surprises."

 _You have no idea_ , Remus thought flatly, replying out loud with mock seriousness, "I'm sorry I held out on you, Padfoot. Believe me, if I'd known how gauche _you_ are, I would have shown mercy and taught you my ways… might've been able to save the dignity you're sacrificing by doing whatever it is you're attempting out there with Elizabeth."

"Shut up, you tosser," Sirius chuckled, slapping the back of his hand on Remus' arm. "I'm doing just fine."

"You are," Remus could honestly agree. "Sure of yourself, in any case – you have a way of making it look like you always know what you're doing."

"I think you mean, I always _do_ know what I'm doing, Moony," Sirius crossed his arms over his chest in feigned indignation. Remus hoped the smile he surrendered wasn't overly dopey.

Sirius smiled back and continued, "Anyway, my point was, you look really excellent out there. You might want to be careful, though, or next thing you know, you'll have to beat back a throng of admirers. We all know how bloody uncomfortable you are when you're turning heads."

"Oh? Worried about a little competition, are we, Padfoot?" Remus challenged playfully.

Sirius cocked an eyebrow in return. The sly smile from earlier had returned. "For them? … Or for you?"

Remus' breath exited his lungs in one fell swoop as his mind started spinning madly out of control. He tried to maintain a casual smile while he calculated to what degree Sirius was joking.

Suddenly, James' head poked between them as he leaned over the back of their chairs.

"Phase 1 – complete," he muttered. "You lads ready for Phase 2?"

Remus glanced at his watch, inwardly trying to decide if he was grateful to James or wanted to tell him to 'sod off.' Sure enough, the timepiece read 9:37.

"Pads, you take this," James instructed in a whisper, discreetly handing Sirius a rolled up bundle of cloth. "Release the flood from the back of the hall. Remus, you go back there, too. I'll head up front, and pay my regards to Professor Sluggie. Wormy's already stationed by the treat table."

"Splendid," Sirius grinned. "Let's go."

The three stood and, endeavoring to appear casual and not at all suspicious, headed in their different directions.

Remus stood at the back of the hall, across the way from the now invisible Sirius, and waited for his signal. The fledgling recollection of the words Sirius had just uttered to Remus nudged insistently at his mind, demanding entrance.

 _Go away_ , Remus grumpily told the thought. He didn't have time to be deliberating on that. He needed to keep his mind engaged with the matter at hand.

At last, from the vacant area where Remus knew Sirius to be standing, the former spotted a small, steady stream of water. Thanks to Sirius' artful touch, it appeared to be flowing directly from the base of the wall. The water picked up pace, spreading across the floor in an even blanket. A few shrieks arose as some of the students became cognizant of the liquid beneath their feet.

Remus kept his eyes pinned on the treat table. Within seconds, a tiny brown-furred creature could be seen skirting among the lavish spread of beverages and tasty dishes that heavily burdened the structure.

Remus inhaled, relishing as he always did the fizzy feeling of anticipation when the Marauders were at work. He moved his gaze toward the front of the hall. James was laughing heartily along with Professor Slughorn, but he delivered a sideways glance toward Remus and gave a small wink that was only just detectable from a distance.

With a subtle flick of his wand, which extended from the arm hanging limply by his side, Remus muttered the spell they had perfected during the past few weeks.

At once, the even layer of water now covering the entire floor beneath the students' feet transformed into a thick, glossy sheet of ice.

Cacophony reigned.

The students who hadn't made it to the perimeter of the room began to slip and slide on the slick surface, yelping and haphazardly groping at one another. From the head table, McGonagall shot up, her mouth set in a thin, firm line but her eyes displaying no hint of surprise or confusion. She immediately gave James a very suspicious stare, even though he was still standing near Slughorn and delivering a first-rate performance of looking befuddled.

Dumbledore didn't move but simply observed the scene as if it was a run-of-the-mill class period and the students were merely experimenting with harmless and ordinary charming spells.

Then, a triad of students began to giggle, finding their balance on the now glass-like floor. They started skating as best they could across the ice, holding onto one another for support.

"This is fantastic!" One of the girls shouted to other students hovering near the wall. "Come, give it a go!"

"What a lark!" her friend chimed in, executing a graceless spin. "Come on, you lot!"

The mood at once took a sharp turn as in pairs of twos and threes, more boys and girls attempted to join in skating across the floor. Their lack of skates, as well as the butterbeer many of them had consumed – unaware that it had been made extra potent by James during 'Phase 1' – created a comical spectacle of bumbling and tripping and skidding.

However, the merriness of the students' collective mood was lifted to new heights. Above, the ceiling resembled a sky of deep fluid navy blue and shadowed clouds from which large, intricate flakes of snow began to descend, swirling amid bouts of laughter, cheers and clumsy dance displays.

Sirius suddenly popped into view, a beaming smile decorating his face as he drank in the entertaining aftermath of their festal exploit. Remus moved toward him, careful not to slip on the patches of ice beneath his feet.

"I'll bet you anything Dumbledore did that," Sirius murmured under his breath to Remus, his eyes raised and reflecting the gentle snow flurries.

"Probably," Remus agreed, unable to remove his eyes from Sirius' upturned face. His elegant features only grew more handsome when manifesting his unbridled delight.

Standing so close to the person he cherished most in the world, and watching their peers revel in the outcome of the harmless prank, Remus leaned contentedly against the wall and noted dreamily, _This, right here, is the textbook definition of perfect_.

"Wha' the bloody 'ell?!"

Sirius and Remus simultaneously whipped their heads to the left, only to find Filch standing a few feet away. His mouth was agape, his eyes oscillating between sheer horror and uncontrollable rage. His grimy hands formed tight little balls that hung by the sides of his quaking body.

As he slowly surveyed the room, his glare came to rest on Sirius and Remus. At once, he snarled.

"You mangy little maggots," he growled between clenched teeth. "I'll have your hide for this, I will! For six bleedin' years I've been forced to pu' up with your horseplay. Not tonight, I won't!"

He bolted toward them, paying no care to his movements on the slippery floor. As a result, his feet flew out from under him and he hit the ground with a resounding thud. Remus winced; Sirius' hand flew to his mouth to muffle a laugh.

Filch howled in rage, exhausting the known lexicon of swear words to curse Sirius and Remus. He included James for good measure.

The teenagers traded a look they used so often, its significance needed no analyzing by either party. At once, they headed for the doorway of the Great Hall, the agility purveyed by their youth making it easier to maneuver on the ice.

Once their feet touched dry, solid stone, they broke into a run. Filch could be heard behind them. He presumably had righted himself and was now trailing them, propelled by white-hot fury.

The chase led them past the Entrance Hall and around to the West Wing. Normally, they had no problem shaking Filch. But tonight, his anger seemed to be increasing his speed. Coming to the end of a short hallway, the boys had no choice but to begin hastily ascending the crooked staircase rising in front of them.

"We want to get back downstairs eventually," Remus reminded Sirius in a loud whisper as they took the stairs two at a time. "We can't keep going this way, or we'll be trapped in the Clock Tower."

"Right – I have an idea," Sirius said quietly between gasps for air.

Once on the landing, Sirius unexpectedly shoved Remus against the brick wall, barely missing contact with the portrait of renowned witch Countess Gwendolyn and causing Remus to emit a surprised gasp. Sirius jerkily tossed James' Invisibility Cloak over both of them.

"Stay quiet," he hissed, his breath hot against Remus' ear.

The warning was unnecessary. With Sirius' body flush against his own, Remus could barely breathe, let alone form words. He turned his head to the side and rested it against the chilly brick. He needed to put more than a few centimeters between his and Sirius' lips, or who knew what indiscretions he might commit.

Sirius' arms were raised, his forearms pressed against the wall behind Remus, his clenched fists tightly gripping the edge of the cloak.

Remus knew it was necessary to remain packed together for the cloak to cover both bodies, and also so Filch wouldn't bump into them when he ran past in pursuit. Yet, Remus had a horrifying problem.

The sensations generated by having Sirius – fucking gorgeous Sirius – pressed against him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, was causing a reaction in Remus' prick that he considered completely founded, given the circumstances. He feared, however, that Sirius would vehemently disagree.

He could almost picture his friend's look of shock and disgust and hear him asking, "Why the fuck are you hard right now? What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

The fact that Remus' repositioning of his head only meant Sirius was now panting gently against his exposed neck, the warm breath sensuously fanning his ear and jaw, did not mitigate the problem.

He swallowed and ridiculously wished there was a nonverbal spell one could incant to return dicks to their resting state. More practically, he pushed his body harder against the wall to make even the tiniest bit of space between his groin and Sirius' slender hips.

Filch's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs below were aggressively loud, but Remus could barely hear them. His pulse seemed to pound in his ears.

He swallowed again. Then he glanced through the corner of his eye at Sirius. Which, he learned via a new rush of blood, was a horrible idea. For Sirius was still breathing a bit heavily, and through parted lips. His eyes were downturned, nearly closed, as if he thought the inability to see would somehow keep them better concealed. The sight was incredibly arousing.

Remus bit his lip and looked away. He tightly shut his own eyes and tried to force his back and arse into the wall – hell, through it, if they would go.

Filch rounded along the railing, past the hidden couple on the landing, and then continued up the staircase that curved to the right, swearing vigorously and muttering about chains and whips.

The mere mention of bondage combined with Sirius' warm, fragrant body molded against his own caused Remus to be unexpectedly stimulated in a brand new, and entirely perplexing, way.

 _What the actual hell_? He wondered.

With nothing better to do, Remus made an effort to control his breathing and conjure up any thought that might eviscerate his erection. Unfortunately, as his mind was already preoccupied with obscenity, that led to a repulsing procession of vivid mental images depicting Professor McGonagall performing sexual improprieties completely incompatible with her cold, stern stature that Remus much preferred.

 _Bloody fantastic_ , Remus groaned inside. Now he felt the compulsion to gag as well as thrust his hips forward to brush his needy cock against Sirius' leg.

After what seemed like an hour, the diminishing echo of Filch's steps above them was a welcome symphony.

Sirius opened his eyes and dispelled a breathy, quiet laugh as he lowered the Invisibility Cloak.

Remus tried to set his face with a similar countenance that would express amusement at this predicament – so typical considering the Marauders' packed schedule of carousing and pranking. But he was experiencing pain, derived from the prolonged contraction of his muscles, as well as his throbbing prick aggressively straining the confines of his trousers and making them feel a size too small. He worried any variety of smile he chose would inevitably give him a deranged appearance.

Instead, Remus clumsily cast his face downward and sidestepped quickly to squeeze out from between the wall and the desirable human who frequently wound up in his bed and between his legs in many of the werewolf's furtive daydreams.

"Close call," he muttered, finding his voice at last.

"Sorry to get up on you like that," Sirius responded, even though he hadn't moved and was still uncommonly close to Remus, a jocular shimmer in his liquid gray eyes. "Just a last resort… I couldn't come up with a better plan on the spot."

Remus shrugged a shoulder, hoping it came across as nonchalant and indicated that being pressed against the wall by Sirius had no effect on him. They were, after all, just platonic mates, right? "No worries, Pads. It was a smart move. The cloak couldn't've covered us both while we were running, and now we've got Filch headed in the wrong direction. We can sneak back downstairs peacefully."

"Right," Sirius agreed.

He still did not move. His left arm hung parallel to Remus' right, separated by less than an inch. Their hands were close enough to clasp, Remus noted absently. He fought the urge to shudder beneath the skin-prickling chill of apprehension.

"I suppose we _have_ had enough excitement for one evening," Sirius continued, his voice still constrained to a whisper that made it sound strangely sultry.

"Wouldn't have felt like we pulled off a successful shenanigan, though, if it didn't involve at least one quick getaway from Filch," Remus smiled.

"You sure I didn't hurt you, Moony?" Sirius questioned. Remus' body, which formed a slant as he leaned it against the wall, received from Sirius a slow, top-to-bottom inspection that left Remus feeling particularly hot and bothered.

The question, however, was ideal for situating Remus comfortably in a conversation he felt he could control.

He was able to fix Sirius with a wry look and respond in a flat, almost mocking tone, "Padfoot. I transform into a bloody werewolf every month. I'm not exactly fragile. I don't think you slamming me into a wall is enough to hurt me. And I am taller than you, after all."

"Psh. By an inch or two," Sirius rolled his eyes, but then went back to staring boldly at Remus. "But I will concede, wands aside, and speaking only in terms of physical strength, you're probably capable of doing a lot more damage to me than vice versa."

Remus wasn't sure if he'd heard a somewhat suggestive pause before the word 'damage' or if his ears were playing spiteful tricks on him. His heart thudded at an alarmingly rapid pace.

Inside his head, he was trying not to register how close Sirius' face remained to his, and how easy it would be to crane his neck and catch Sirius' lips in a kiss. And there also, within his reach, was Sirius' slender, muscled thigh. Enticing and shapely even beneath the thick dark fabric of his trousers, so suitable for being slowly grazed in a trail up toward the tempting and distinctly masculine flesh at the top that invariably cropped up in Remus' wank fantasies these days. The impulse was so powerful. Remus knew he had to move or it would take over him.

"Er – well, I suppose we should go check on Prongs and Wormtail," he straightened up and brushed his ruffled hair back from his forehead, giving his hands an occupation that would prevent them from reaching for Sirius' waist and pulling him in. "… And I bet Elizabeth is wondering where the bloody hell you buggered off to."

"Probably," Sirius agreed with an audible note of disinterest.

There was a tangible beat during which neither boy seemed to know what to do. For a few seconds, Sirius' eyes filtered an absent look that made it difficult for Remus to read his mood. Then, rather abruptly, the black-haired boy broke into a broad confident grin.

"Well, what are we waiting for? We've got two lovely girls downstairs, expecting us to bid them goodnight, at the very least. Might as well make the most of the remainder of the evening, right?"

For whatever reason, Remus was crestfallen, his stomach knotting painfully, but he responded with fabricated joviality, "Absolutely right."

"Maybe we don't even have to end the night," Sirius continued, turning away and galloping down the stairs, possessed once again by his normal swagger. "You blokes wouldn't mind if I snuck Elizabeth into our room, would you?"

Remus wanted to vomit. He also wanted Sirius to be requesting something wildly inappropriate so he would be justified in lashing out angrily, "Yes, Yes I _would_ bloody mind!" But Sirius wasn't. And Remus couldn't.

" 'Course not," Remus croaked, before adding in a voice as indifferent as he could manage, "Are you certain that's a good idea, though? You wouldn't want to accidentally get caught. You'd be chancing a slew of detentions waiting for you when you return from the holiday."

"Moony," Sirius answered, playfully reproachful, "look who you're talking to. First off, we're not going to get caught. When have I ever? I mean, at least doing stuff like this. Second, I hardly care if I am. That can be half the fun, y'know?"

"Right, of course," Remus tried to keep his voice light. "You _would_ feel that way."

"Don't worry – we'll try to keep it down. But I can't make any promises. When I'm doing my best work, the ladies, they have a tendency to be quite noisy a–"

"Oh, I know," Remus cut him off, hoping the remark passed under the guise of the tart humor he usually wielded, rather than revealing how each new word Sirius added to this conversation cut him deeply. Sirius seemed to buy it, laughing as if this was all just a good joke between two pals.

As it turned out, Remus elected not to be in proximity to hear how loud Sirius could make Elizabeth groan his name. Sirius was notorious for frequently neglecting or forgetting to set noise-muffling charms, much to the recurrent discomfiture of his roommates.

Having bade Cecille a quick, chaste farewell, Remus stayed in the common room long after everyone had returned to their rooms. He sat huddled in a plush chair by the fire, trying to keep his focus latched on the words filling the pages of his book rather than the couple copping off in his bedroom. But the text kept swimming in a haze before his eyes.

 _You don't have a right to feel this pained,_ he tried to reason with himself _. Sirius hasn't intentionally done anything to hurt you_.

But he did hurt. Whether or not it was intentional, the cause behind the sadness had successfully accomplished its mission. It had infiltrated Remus' most reliable defense – his ability to control his emotions – and set up camp. No line of reasoning Remus could command was strong enough to beat it back, which irritated Remus. Logic was supposed to trounce emotion. Always. But nothing he could offer himself in terms of rationality made it any less true that he was feeling profoundly injured.

 _I certainly don't appreciate that one person has such singular power to do this to me_ , he offered sourly as terms of surrender _. But I can't help it. I just… can't. I'm smitten with him. Like a sodding fool._

He heard the latch on the common room door turn slowly, and he looked up.

To his surprise, the entrant was the last person he ever expected to see returning so late.

"Lily?" he whispered, as she shut the door gingerly, attempting to make no noise.

She let out a soft yelp and spun around.

"Mother of Merlin, Remus, you frightened me," she exhaled, falling back against the door with a hand clutching her chest.

"Sorry," he murmured. "You sneaking in past 2 in the morning, however, is quite the surprise, as well."

She blushed and shrugged for lack of wanting to offer an explanation. Having caught her breath, she came to join Remus by the warm fire.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, massaging her hands in front of the snapping flames.

"Just reading," Remus responded, closing his book and laying it on the table beside his chair.

"In the common room? Why not in your bed? It would be vastly more comfortable, I'm sure," her eyebrows slanted quizzically.

"Er – it was just getting a little crowded in there," Remus said casually, averting his gaze from Lily so she couldn't spot any bitterness possibly creeping into his eyes.

"How do you mean?" she pressed, eyeing the Marauders' closed bedroom suspiciously. When he didn't respond immediately, she pushed harder, "...Remus?"

"Just, well, I suppose you could say Sirius had a successful night, and is simply enjoying the sustained company of his lady friend in a bed a little too close to mine for comfort."

Something similar to guilt bit at him for being so careless – and maybe even a tad vindictive – with this information, but it was only Lily he was talking to. And besides, Sirius' overactive appetite for venereal pleasure wasn't exactly a secret. But still, Remus felt with disappointment that he should have bit his tongue.

Lily had no trouble deciphering Remus' cryptic comment. Ever the dutiful prefect, her eyes narrowed sternly. "He shouldn't be doing that. And he knows it. Perhaps I should go say something…?"

While Remus was quite entertained by the idea of Lily brazenly storming in on an unsuspecting Sirius – as well as the fiery war of words that would inevitably ensue between his two fiercely clever friends – he also felt sickened thinking of Sirius finding out Remus betrayed his trust. To prevent that, he raised his eyebrows and fixed Lily with a dubious look as if to say, _Do you really want to be that person_?

Acknowledging his look, she pressed her lips together ruefully and conceded with a haughty sigh, "Well, alright then. Fine. I'll let it go. But just this one night. In the name of Christmas."

As if to get back at Remus for stymieing her rigid enforcement of the school rules, she said sarcastically, "I'm surprised you're not in there with them. My understanding was you lot enjoyed polyamorous affairs. Or is that only when the copulation involves just the four of you?"

"Only the four of us," Remus shot back, equally straight-faced. "We're insanely jealous. But we usually do divide into varying pairs of two when carrying on in that manner. We like to pay one another undivided attention in bed. Besides, the lechery all four of us together could generate is almost inconceivable."

"Oh, is that so?" Lily answered with a vaguely interested tone, as if they were discussing an Ancient Runes lesson and not casual sex among mates. "Ever thought about monogamy? You know, pairing up two and two and making it last? 'Til death do us part,' and all that nonsense?"

"Ah, but how would we ever choose which pairs to make?" Remus asked with a helpless shrug, as if faced with a serious conundrum. He wasn't sure he felt entirely comfortable with the direction of this conversation and how close to home Lily was hitting. "I couldn't fathom singling out just one mate over the others. Wouldn't seem right to deprive the other two of my intimate company."

"Hmmm… that's a good question," Lily replied, suddenly dropping her end of the joke and giving the subject unduly earnest consideration.

Remus was hit with a mild jolt of panic. Trying to sound nonchalant, he stated matter-of-factly, "Lily, I was just joking."

"I know, I know," she waved her hand dismissively. But she gave a bemused smile as she cocked her head in deliberation, seeming to genuinely enjoy the game. "But it's an interesting question, isn't it?"

"Not really," Remus answered flatly. He wanted to bite his fingernail, but he knew that was a dangerous tell when he got nervous. It was his ability to remain coolly motionless and expressionless that made him a formidable card player and, generally, an impeccable secret-keeper. He felt his confidence slipping, however, as his apprehension grew.

"I don't see you matching well with Potter," she continued mulling. She thought for another few seconds and Remus wished desperately he had aborted this verbal interchange many lines ago. "Nor Pettigrew. … Hmm, no, no. Certainly not. … That would leave Black, I suppose."

Her face broke once again into a mocking grin and she released an incredulous gasp. "That must be it – from what I hear around the school, he's quite _irresistible_ ," she teased good-naturedly, pressing a hand to her chest. "Am I right? Have you been pining away all these years for the dreamy Sirius Black?"

Remus made a scoffing noise, but it was noticeably delayed.

By the time he managed to lie quickly, "No, of course not, Lily," she was already reading his face. At once, her expression transformed. Her brows knitted above keenly observant and now vividly concerned eyes. Remus realized his tone had not been the right fit for Lily's playful banter.

After the thickly pregnant silence had burned through a few seconds, she whispered, "Oh."

 _She knows_. The realization fell on Remus like a brick. _She's too damn perceptive_.

He opened his mouth to offer another trite denial, but snapped it shut with short huff. There was no concealing it now. Humiliated, Remus let his head drop so his face could hide beneath the shield of his palms. He grimaced with a deep mortified groan.

"Oh." Lily repeated, slower, her shoulders sinking as the realization swept over her. "I see. Well… hmmm."

Remus didn't know what he expected from Lily, but it certainly wasn't this silent contemplation. She rested her head back against the chair, her fingers laced and pressing against her pursed lips. Her eyes glazed over as they stared at the wispy dying fire.

Remus had so much he wanted to explain, both for his sake and hers, but the silence also was strangely relieving. His teeth picked at the skin on his thumb as he waited for her say something more. At least it appeared, he thought hopefully, that she wasn't revolted to learn he was slightly more bent than she previously assumed.

At last, she sighed and shook her head, resting her palm against her cheek. "And here I was, trying to set you up with Cecille like a complete duffer! I thought I was doing you both a favor, but I just made a pig's ear of the situation," she groaned. "What an _idiot_..."

The statement was so unexpected, and so quintessentially Lily, that Remus chuckled softly in spite of himself and the agony burning away in the pit of his stomach.

"No, it was a thoughtful gesture, Lily, and no harm done," he responded, pleased to find that this conversation felt oddly normal. "But, maybe you should stop now, seeing as it's not likely to go anywhere?"

"Seeing as you would prefer to be snogging Sirius Black?" she asked bluntly, a smirk on her lips.

"Something like that."

Her playfulness disappeared as renewed sympathy blanketed her expression.

"Oh, Remus," she sighed, reaching out to gently squeeze his leg. "I'm sorry about all this. And I'm sorry I started this inane conversation in the first place! It can't be easy at all. I assume he doesn't know…?"

Remus shook his head, thinking to himself, _thank god_.

"And are you – do you plan to tell him?"

"Fuck no," he answered shortly. Even the mere thought of doing so drenched him in gut-wrenching dread.

She nodded unhappily in understanding.

"I assume the others don't know either," she murmured.

Figuring she meant Peter and James – or any "other," for that matter – Remus shook his head again.

"No. I didn't know myself until a few months ago," Remus admitted. "But I don't want to think of anyone else finding out. Ever. I just need it to go away. That's all I want. That's all I can want, y'know?"

She hummed sympathetically.

Both lapsed into silence for a few minutes. Remus dropped his gaze to the carpet, resting his chin on his hand and trying to figure out how to navigate this unusual situation. Then Lily stood abruptly.

"Care for a cuppa?" She asked briskly.

Remus was taken aback, but gave a grateful little nod, touched by her ability to balance the tension. She could walk the fine line between letting people be and yet being there for them.

She returned from her room shortly, carrying two mugs of water laden with tea leaves that she efficiently spelled to a rolling boil. She handed Remus his mug, and then pulled out of her pocket a crumpled package of chocolate drops and set it on the arm of his chair.

"It really does help," she offered with a smile.

The two sat for an hour, drinking tea and devouring the supply of chocolate. Lily didn't press Remus on the details of his crush or needle him with morbidly fascinated inquiries into the newfound discovery of his sexuality.

She somewhat reluctantly admitted she enjoyed the ice rink and then entertained with a story of how Arnold had mistook her reaching for the plate of tarts in front of him as her soliciting a kiss, an offer he enthusiastically pursued until she could escape his grasp and frankly inform him she was actually just seeking more to eat.

Finally, after Remus could safely assume Sirius and Elizabeth had finished their debauchery and fallen asleep, they called it a night.

Before they departed for their separate bedrooms, Lily gently placed her hand on Remus' forearm for a second, captured his eyes in a direct gaze and whispered with her personal brand of disarming sincerity, "You're a catch, Remus. Don't let anything or anyone make you feel like you're not. And this will all turn out in the end, I know it."

"Thanks, Lily," he smiled.

Moments later, as he lay nestled beneath his comforter, he found his mind less preoccupied with Sirius and Elizabeth than he would have predicted. Thankfully, Sirius had the presence of mind to close his bed curtains, so Remus was spared having to witness the carnage of their carnal romp.

But it wasn't just that. Remus found himself distracted by an infusion of serenity in his mind, as if he'd enjoyed a swig of tranquilizing elixir. He was reminded what a deliciously comforting thing it is to have an ally, and how lucky he was Lily could play such a role.

 _I wish Prongs could get his act together, and sort of go about his wooing in a manner more suited to Lily – they actually would make a decent couple_ , he pondered drowsily as delayed sleepiness now crashed over him like a wave. _I certainly wouldn't mind getting to keep her around for a long time as part of our family._


	5. Winter Revelations

Remus’ chest constricted with an inner pull of excitement as he approached the Potters’ stately mansion, nestled on a plat of property reflective of its surrounding upper-class neighborhood in the Rushcliffe borough.

A fresh layer of fluffy white snow evenly iced the Potters’ normally manicured front yard. Additional oversized flakes were swirling gently, giving the Victorian-era home a breathtaking aesthetic that mimicked a sappy Christmas card.

In preparation for the arrival of impending twilight, the sky was a sheet of cold, pale silver, touched here and there with a few watery streaks of blue and violet. The drowsily descending sun hung like a white-gold wafer behind a thin cover of clouds.

Brittle leaves and twigs, which had been sprinkled with frost until they appeared candied, crunched beneath Remus’ feet as he traveled the last block toward his destination.

Three days ago, he had received a sloppily scrawled message via James’ owl Yuhwer that produced a sequence of varying emotions.

 

_Moony,_

_Urgent news. Padfoot’s officially resigned from the Noble and Most Ancient (and Most Replete With Filthy Wankers) House of Black. It was a bloody disaster. We’ll fill you in in-person._

_Of course, Padfoot doesn’t care, even though the bitch tried to have him Crucio’d. He’s pretty chuffed with himself, actually. He’s come to stay with us for the rest of the holiday!_

_Therefore, we request the presence of Mr. Moony, post haste, to complete the reunion and keep Mr. Padfoot and Mr. Prongs from thoroughly destroying the Potter residence. Those were my mum’s words. She actually insisted you come. Worried about her sanity, she said. Can you imagine? Anyway, tell your dad we made you do it._

_We sent an owl to Wormtail – not sure he’ll be able to tear himself away from his mum and her illustrious cooking, even though my mum cooks just as well, if you get down to it. Anyway, Padfoot says I’m digressing and to get back to the bloody point, which was, we will still have a jolly time regardless._

_Don’t send an owl. We wouldn’t stand for you not coming, anyway, so it would be bloody useless._

_See you soon!_

_Prongs_

 

Remus felt a bit guilty leaving his father, but he couldn’t deny he was bubbling with anticipation about spending a week with his best friends at the Potters’ inviting home, always filled with hospitality, Mr. Potter’s fountain of good-natured jokes and Mrs. Potter’s constant nurturing, a reliably soothing surrogate Remus had come to treasure.

Remus’ father was understanding, of course, and said it would give him an opportunity to visit his sister in Wales. Via tacky and poorly concealed rumors wafting about the Ministry, he also had become privy to news of Sirius’ rebellious departure from his family.

Some of the whispers portrayed Sirius as a misled and ungrateful brat who had viciously ripped out his parents’ generous, sensitive hearts in a petty act of mindless defiance. Others underhandedly applauded the teenager’s inspiring courage and pointed statement. Regardless, Mr. Lupin seemed convinced Sirius was likely having a hard go of it, and that Remus should be there to support him.

Little did his father know, Remus mused, that Sirius had been well aware for months a familial fissure of this nature was coming. He would be proud in his own right that he made it happen on his own terms. Still, Remus happily accepted the excuse.

No sooner had Remus rounded onto the slippery brick walkway leading up to the Potters’ wraparound veranda that the front door swung open with a crash, and two recognizable figures burst forth, pushing at one another in an effort to be the first out. In their haste, both had forgot to put on jackets.

“Sodding … – try that again, Padfoot, and I’ll Bat-Bogey the hell out of you!”

“Don’t be such a prat, Prongs. I gave you fair warning!”

“Like hell you did!”

“ – I specifically said, ‘I’m going – ”

“ – you intentionally – ”

“Moony!”

Sirius reached Remus first, James right on his heels.

“Glad you made it alright, mate. We didn’t know when you were coming for sure.” Sirius, not attempting to contain his pleasure at seeing Remus, rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Even beneath his heavy winter coat and wool sweater, the innocuous touch scorched Remus’ skin and made his muscles tense involuntarily.

Ignoring the inconvenient reaction, he included both mates in his wry smile. “Well, I was given explicit instructions not to send a return owl with details about my visit, so…”

“Blimey, Padfoot, I think he’s finally catching on! All these years, we’ve been telling you, Moony, it’s best to just listen to us and do everything we say without question.”

“Had to stick eventually,” Sirius quipped.

Remus was being led to the house. His friends’ back-and-forth repartee slapped against his ears, but his attention was focused on the fact that Sirius’ hand had lowered, yet the contact remained, now more firmly in place on his arm.

 _God, pull yourself together_ , he instructed his heart, which had interpreted the presence of Sirius as a reason to start beating double time. It all affected Remus, every sensory detail: the provocatively musky scent of Sirius, the deep timbre of his laugh, the sight of him looking ridiculously sexy in a weather-inappropriate powder blue T-shirt and tight black jeans.

 _Don’t look there_ , Remus commanded himself sharply, putting a quick stop to the way his dirty mind – made ravenous from two weeks of separation – did away with the form-fitting jeans and made a point of reminding Remus just how enticingly perfect Sirius’ arse was. Quickly reversing his perusal, he dragged his eyes back up along the contours of Sirius’ spine and shoulder blades moving beneath his thin shirt.

“C’mon, Moony. We’ve been working on a really nifty gadget. We need some help on a few charms, though. Your timing’s perfect, mate.”

James had slammed the tall, mahogany door and started loping up the stairs with Sirius and Remus close behind when a cheery trill from the direction of the kitchen stopped their movements short.

“James? Is that Remus, dear? Bring him into the kitchen. I want to say hello.”

James released an exaggerated sigh as the three traded a deliberate look. Remus likewise gave his head a shake suggesting exasperation, but he possessed no traces of actual disappointment or annoyance.

The Potters’ gracious hospitality was unmatched, and Remus adored it. James’ friends were always welcomed with open arms, some superfluous fawning and prods to eat plate after plate of biscuits and tarts, whether or not real hunger was present.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Potter was sipping on a cup of tea and peering over the top of her round glasses at an article in the _Daily Prophet_. Behind her, a large pot of something warm, fragrant and undoubtedly delicious was being stirred by a wooden spoon. The sink was brimming with dishes bathing themselves in steaming, sudsy water.

Mrs. Potter glanced up as the trio of boys entered, and her face split into a bright smile.

“Remus, dear,” she cooed, standing and giving him a warm hug.

“Thanks for having me, Mrs. Potter,” he said, the sound muffled by the circular cushion of her arms around his neck.

“Of course, dear. You’re always welcome. After all,” she drew back, brushing away a lock of dark hair and raising her eyebrows deliberately as she motioned with her head at James and Sirius, “I figure you of all people might be able to keep these two mischief-makers out of trouble.”

“Oh, come _on_ , mum,” James rolled his eyes and nipped one of the sugar cookies cooling atop the counter. “It hasn’t been _that_ bad. Nothing much has actually happened since we got here.”

Mrs. Potter automatically puffed up with indignation, and Remus was made aware yet again of where James got his hot head. “Nothing has happened? Is that right? And what about the shed, then? You call that nothing, James? Reduced to a couple of cinders after that mess of a potion you boys concocted!”

“I said ‘much,’” James grumbled, stuffing the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

“But, Mrs. Potter,” Sirius smiled his irresistible smile that could nearly seduce even a goblin, “We immediately fixed it back up. And made it look even spiffier than before! But then, you deserve only the best, of course. We wanted to do right by you.”

Mrs. Potter was not immune to the famous Black charm. She rolled her eyes and clucked a bit more, but a small pleased grin emerged from between her lightly pink cheeks. Remus, however, caught Sirius’ eyes behind her back and, suppressing his own grin, mouthed a scornful, _Oh, brother_. Sirius just sent him a cheeky wink in return.

“You know, mum,” James continued, trying to sharply turn the conversation away from further mention of the disintegrated shed, “Remus isn’t the perfect little saint you make him out to be, either. You’ll be interested to learn he spends nearly as much time in detention as Sirius and I.”

Remus shot James an incredulous look, “Not true!”

“Only because you’re better at keeping a straight face when lying to the professors,” Sirius stated.

Remus crossed his arms over his chest, amused but also a bit riled by his friends’ disloyal ribbing. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s also the reason you and James have been spared numerous deserved reprimands and detentions. … You’re welcome, then.”

Sirius laughed, shrugging in concession. James started to retort, but was cut off by his mother, whose silencing hand gesture signaled an end to the playful argument.

“That’s enough, boys. Come have a sit, Remus. Here. I just made a fresh batch this morning.”

He was ushered toward a free chair and promptly handed a scone.

“Now, tell me, how is sixth year going? The workload getting to you? I know it’s a significant increase from fifth year, what with preparing for your NEWTs. Oh, and how is your father? It’s been ages since I’ve seen dear Lyall. He doesn’t attend social gatherings as much since…,” her voice trailed off and she gave a sympathetic grimace.

For her sake, Remus acknowledged the heartfelt concern with an assuring smile of his own, but let the moment pass, undesirous of encroaching on the topic of his mother. He launched into a recap of the first term, distilling it down to just descriptions of course work and prefect responsibilities and sifting out any mention of Marauder revels and full-moon wanderings.

Mrs. Potter was an attentive listener, humming and nodding and posing questions. Her poise and polish bespoke her pedigree, but it was more than that. She was simply a person composed of compassion.

Remus had approached the finish and was taking a drink of his cinnamon tea, when James’ voice shot from across the room, “Mum! What is this?”

He was standing near a counter cluttered with mail, ogling one of the many letters.

“What are you on about, James? What is –,” recognizing the sheet of crisp azure parchment he held in his hand, she jumped up and snatched it away. “ _That_ is none of your business! How many times have I told you not to go through people’s personal affects?”

“You left it open here in the kitchen, mum. It’s not like I was snooping through your dresser drawers. Anyway,” he fixed his mother with a hard, prodding stare, but his curiosity was palpable, “why are you changing the subject? That was a note from Dumbledore. I recognize the handwriting. And it mentioned something about ‘a generous donation’ to ‘the cause.’ What’s all that about? …Mum?”

“James,” his mother sighed, “It’s nothing. It concerns adult matters. And it _doesn’t_ concern you boys. You’re still in school.”

James flared up immediately. Nothing irked him greater than being relegated to the status of child. Sirius was glancing uncertainly between the two, but it was obvious he quickly was joining James’ side.

“We’re not kids, mum! Remus and I turn 17 in March. Sirius already had his birthday in November. By Ministry standards, we’re adults. Nearly.”

“You’re _students_ ,” she responded sternly.

“Only for another year,” Sirius pointed out.

“We can’t be coddled forever,” James agreed.

“Mrs. Potter,” Remus reasoned mildly, his curiosity also piqued, “We’re not unaware of what’s happening out there. We know about the muggle killings. Even the muggle newspapers are reporting on strange, inexplicable disappearances and disasters. We’ve heard rumors about Voldemort and his band of Death Eaters. They try to shield us at school, but we’ve deduced quite a bit on our own. Isn’t it better to build our knowledge from facts rather than just whispers of gossip?”

She sighed again, the feeble last stand of her tottering will power. Her resolve was no match for the three sets of urgent eyes pinned imploringly on her face.

“Alright then, fine,” she huffed. Compelled by caution, and a little superstition, she cast a silencing spell around the room.

Now having surrendered to their demands, she gave them a wilting glare. “I will tell you a little, but if any of you breathes a word of this, I will personally see to your punishment. And I swear to Merlin, I will not be lenient. This isn’t playground pranks or fun and games – it’s not a shed that can be quickly replaced or fixed with a spell – we’re talking about the difference between human life and death. And you will not treat it carelessly.”

“No, of course not,” Sirius quickly responded, his face appropriately intense.

“We promise, Mrs. Potter,” Remus added solemnly. An alloy of anticipation and foreboding swirled through his senses, stifling his breath.

“Well, _briefly_ ,” she started, having lowered her volume considerably, “Albus has started putting together an organization – a _secret_ organization – to oppose Voldemort. Whether or not the Ministry will acknowledge it, we’re at war. There’s no denying it.

“This secret organization contains a growing number of witches and wizards of varying talents, skills and ages – adults only, James,” she warned in response to his excited gasp. “Albus believes it is the only way we can take a meaningful stand against this dreadful propagation of depravity. Before it’s too late. The Ministry hems and haws about, trying to be diplomatic and not ruffle feathers, trying to keep its purse plump. It’s not enough. Albus needs to be able to work outside of the Ministry’s umbrella. Covertly. It’s the only way. Otherwise…”

She sounded scared, and for the first time since the rumbles of war had surfaced, Remus felt certain they should be, as well.

“He asked your father and I to contribute financially to the cause, for supplies, food, whatever is needed to keep the organization functioning,” she aimlessly twisted the corner of her cloth napkin. Her eyes revealed a bit of regret, and Remus thought contritely that maybe they shouldn’t have pushed her for information. “Of course, we said yes. We will continue making monthly donations as long as the organization needs to be sustained. And we’ll assist in whatever other ways we can.”

Her voice broke off. She was done. And the boys knew better than to pelt her with any one of the many questions ruminating in their inquisitive brains.

James had moved to his mother’s side and rested a protective hand on her slender, hunched shoulder.

“Thank you for telling us,” Sirius said earnestly, the hint of excessive flattery he sometimes used with adults replaced by endearing sincerity. “It’s good that we know the truth. We’re going to need it.”

Remus nodded in agreement. “It _is_ going to affect us sooner or later … isn’t it?”

It was a statement more than a question. Even so, Mrs. Potter nodded once, not wanting to say ‘yes’ out loud, not wanting to implicate herself in the brutal hardship and potential misery poised to aggressively confront three of her favorite adolescents in a future nearer than she agreed to acknowledge.

Remus thought he detected the twinkle of tears coating her eyes. It made him a tad self-conscious, the way most tokens of worry or affection did, but overriding that was the desire to lift her spirits.

“Let us help you with dinner,” he offered gently, standing. “Mr. Potter will be home from work soon, won’t he? We should have it ready for him.”

A grateful smile replaced the deep grooves of concern etched into Mrs. Potter’s face. She collected herself and likewise rose steadily from her chair, all traces of tears and fears erased.

While she hardly needed help in the kitchen, what with her mastery of cooking-related spells, she seemed to appreciate the idea of something to do, even if that something was muggling up the food preparation process.

“We just won’t let Sirius or James anywhere near a simmering pot over an open flame,” she stage-whispered conspiratorially to Remus, who nodded gravely in return, while the aforementioned parties pretended to take offense at the implication.

Before long, Mrs. Potter was back to normal, doling out instructions to the three teenagers. In return, they bustled about the kitchen, chopping vegetables and mixing spices and trying to pretend they weren’t internally consumed with thoughts of Professor Dumbledore’s secret organization.

Whatever else they might be, they weren’t stupid. They recognized this development as the reflection of something sinister and dark, like a shadow creeping along the wall of a dimly lit room. Details were currently obscured. The ambiguity, however, was anything but mollifying.

* * *

 

The few tail-end days of Christmas holiday were quickly evaporating. In their stead was a herd of merry young memories that Remus knew he would catalogue as some of his finest.

Because Remus was not present on actual Christmas Day, Mrs. Potter insisted they put on a replica of the festivities so he could be included.

For a second time, James and Sirius were made to re-open their gifts, and they even accomplished a fairly good impression of pretending to see them for the first time. Mrs. Potter cooked another fantastic feast of glazed ham, roasted vegetables, candied yams and buttered rolls. They all good-naturedly joined in the carols she insisted on, even though singing was a skill not one of them possessed.

Then there were the late-night poker games accompanied by smoking cigars and drinking beer sans any pretense or cover, for the Potters were unconcerned with regulating that kind of behavior.

A couple afternoons, Remus and James lazed about the garage, eating Chocolate Frogs and Sugar Quills and playfully casting mick-taking barbs at Sirius as he gushed adoringly over his latest acquisition, a huge junky black motorbike. He was struggling to figure out from a manual how to fix it up without magic, but floundering a bit. His frustration made him respond to their heckling with outrageously colorful and nonsensical insults, much to James’ and Remus’ amusement. He finally forbade them from coming anywhere near it – “even when I get it to fly,” he vowed.

On the eve of their scheduled return to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter requested James accompany him on some business in Diagon Alley. That left Remus and Sirius to roam about the house, trying to find if there were any nooks and crannies they had yet to explore.

Discovering none, Sirius suggested they journey to the uppermost attic so he could smoke a cigarette away from Mrs. Potter’s fussing about the scent lingering on her fine furniture.

“That’s the room they offered to fix up for me, to stay in when we’re on break from school,” Sirius explained, his face softly embellished with gratitude and affection. Over the years, the Potters had proved themselves infinitely better parents to him than his own blood relatives could ever aspire to be.

“How do you feel about not going home again?” Remus asked tentatively. With all their reveling, they hadn’t fleshed out the details of Sirius’ final departure, though Remus gathered it had been vicious, even violent.

“I can’t remember it ever feeling like home,” Sirius answered with an unmistakable undertone of melancholy. “I despise that place, Moony. There aren’t enough words to articulate how much. I know that sounds ridiculous. Considering how many times I’ve whinged about it to you and Prongs.”

“No, I understand, Pads,” Remus responded honestly. “We didn’t have to experience it, live in it, like you did.”

“I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy,” Sirius said resolutely.

“Not even Severus?”

“Well…,” he gave a reluctant smile and shrugged a shoulder. “Snape’s in a league of his own.”

“Was that true what Prongs wrote,” Remus hesitated, “ – about your mum trying to use the Cruciatus Curse on you?”

Even though the question had sat, waiting and unmovable, in his brain for days, Remus had avoided it because his visceral reaction to envisioning such an occurrence resulted in waves of nausea.

It took a great deal to move Remus to violence. Hearing Sirius had been tortured, however, would be more than sufficient to make him wish he could advantageously exploit his werewolf nature just once. That scared him a little – that his adoration for this person was so gripping it could lead him to strangely value a part of himself he detested.

Sirius rolled his eyes and shifted uncomfortably. “Prongs exaggerates, you know that…”

“But how much, specifically, in this case?” Remus asked firmly, his dread not assuaged by Sirius’ response.

They were in the attic now, surrounded by moth-damaged tapestry, deteriorating furniture and a smog of dust. Sirius turned his face away from Remus, deep in thought. Stalling, he used a spell to light a couple sets of candles placed throughout the room. Remus waited patiently.

“We got into a big row – me and my parents,” Sirius at last relented with a sigh, lifting open the only window in the room and inviting in a blast of icy air. “Well, one of many. Or rather, I suppose you could say this was the culmination of the many.

“Most of my extended family was in London for a visit. Tensions were running high with those sods there. Hateful words were tossed about, and the lot of them started joining in. Then, at one point, I announced that, on no uncertain terms, I was leaving. My mum got so angry she screamed something about ‘blood traitor’ and ‘disowning,’ and burned my image off that bloody stupid Black Family Tapestry. You know, the one in the drawing room? I shouted back, ‘good riddance, bastards.’”

He finished the sentence with a single rough laugh, but otherwise his features were tense. Haphazardly, he used his wand to light the cigarette couched between his extended fingers. He took a long drag and slowly exhaled, still appearing preoccupied with memories of the fight.

“Then that twat Bellatrix – Narcissa’s older sister, remember her? – she starts prancing around like she’s an ickle child, not a fucking grown woman, asking my mother if she wants her to Crucio me. Mind you, Bella’s lathered up at the prospect, repeating, ‘may I? May I?’ My mother answers she doesn’t want Bella to – probably because the idiot doesn’t know how – but someone should,” he made a scoffing noise. “The only reason my mother refused to do it herself is because she hates getting her lily white hands dirty. Then she screeches for my Uncle Cygnus to ‘do something!’ I swear, she looked deranged by that point.”

Remus waited on tenterhooks as Sirius enjoyed a few more drags of his cig.

“Ol’ Cyg wastes no time pulling out his wand – loves being my mother’s lackey and doing all her shit deeds. I dodged most of his spells, deflected a few, and threw in some of my own. Just defensive ones. Thank Merlin I turned 17 this year, although I don’t think a Ministry restriction would’ve deterred me much in that situation.

“Anyway, Cygnus had just got me cornered and was about to do … _it_ … when Regulus came into the room. He was utterly shocked by the scene, then looked as if he was on the verge of tears,” Sirius said, almost derisively. “That got my mother in a tizzy. She called off Cygnus, made up some bunk about how they were only playing and ushered Reg out of there. Then father storms over to me and yells for me to ‘Get out immediately, and never set foot in this house again.’ I told him, ‘gladly.’ Packed up what I could – mostly just focused on my school items – and made my way over here on the Knight Bus. Of course, the Potters took me in without question. Said I could live here as long as I need to.”

As Sirius fell silent, Remus could sense the beast inside him materializing. Vaguely familiar impulses to howl and maim and ravage stabbed at him.

Usually these impulses were reserved for his wolf form, which meant as a boy, he merely remembered them in fragmented, ambiguous bits and pieces. Not now. Now he perceived them sharply. They were boiling right under his skin. So close, too close, to the surface.

He clamped his mouth shut and his eyes bore into the ground as he willed his rampaging emotions to come back under his control.

“Moony, it’s okay,” Sirius said hastily, having sensed Remus’ seething. He closed the window forcefully and then strode over to Remus’ side. “I swear. I wasn’t hurt – not badly. It was nothing. I swear. I honestly don’t care about any of it. I just want to forget that nightmare.”

Remus nodded slowly, still not calm enough to speak. He tried not to picture what it would look like, or how intensely satisfying it would be, to punch Lady Black square in the face.

“I’m just happy to be rid of them,” Sirius continued reassuringly, resting his hand on Remus’ forearm. As if reading his friend’s mind, he added, “It’s not worth doing anything stupid, like setting a mysterious werewolf, stag and wild dog loose in No. 12 Grimmauld Place next full moon.”

Remus recognized Sirius’ attempts at turning the situation into a joke. That was his preferred tactic for trying to cheer up his friends. Succumbing to a weak smile, Remus shook his head at Sirius’ farcical warning.

“I just hate it, Padfoot,” he spoke at last. “The thought of them doing that to you – I hate them all. With my entire being. I _hate_ them. I know I shouldn’t say this, but I truly want to curse them all.”

“I know what you mean, Moony. I want to, as well. But I don’t want you to worry about it. I don’t. It bothers me to think I’ve upset you.”

Remus turned toward Sirius, his eyes full of concern. “Padfoot. _You_ haven’t upset me! You did nothing. It’s them. I loathe – ”

“No, I know, I know,” Sirius said in a rush, tightening his grip on Remus’ arm. “But my point was, I don’t like seeing you upset. I would do anything to prevent that.”

The sweetly sincere admission made Remus’ heart flutter. He could feel himself blushing maddeningly.

 _Now is not the time for this,_ he cautioned himself _. He needs his friend at the moment, not some lovesick fool who falls to pieces every time he touches me._

However, because Remus was a lovesick fool who currently was falling to pieces at the realization that Sirius’ fingers remained curved along his arm, smooth and strong against his bare skin, he was at a loss for words.

In the same instant, Sirius also realized his hand was on Remus, for he stiffly snatched it back and put it into his pocket with an embarrassed grin.

He purposelessly glanced about the room and then exclaimed, “Oi, look at this,” as means of a clumsy segue out of the strained silence. Taking long strides, he moved to the side of a grubby, worn piano that had been unceremoniously stashed into a tiny alcove.

The sight of it made Remus blanch but he followed Sirius anyway.

“Looks like no one’s touched it in quite some time,” he observed, wiping away a bit of the dust but only marginally improving the instrument’s appearance. “I wonder why.”

“Maybe it’s just a family heirloom. Probably stowed away up here when Mrs. Potter realized Prongs only has the attention span to meticulously pursue a hobby if it involves flying or hexes or pranks.”

“Or Lily Evans,” Remus chimed in with a teasing grin.

Sirius chuckled. “Right. Otherwise, he’s just a ridiculously impatient git.”

After perusing it a bit longer, he mused aloud, “You would think I would despise the sight of this rubbish as much as I do being asked to converse in French.”

“French?” Remus’ curiosity was sparked by the absent-minded comment. Never had he heard Sirius speak a different language. He was uncertain he could even imagine Sirius speaking French.

“Of course, Moony,” Sirius seemed equally surprised by Remus’ incredulity. “‘Toujours purs.’” His disdainful tone made the Black family motto sound like a curse.

“Oh, right. Of course,” Remus responded, a bit bewildered at how he could have missed that connection.

Looking at Sirius, being around him, it was easy to forget his posh upbringing. Of course, there were little reminders – mannerisms, characteristics, his refined accent and love for expensive liquor – traces of an elite lineage that couldn’t be erased, no matter how rebelliously rowdy he tried to be at times.

“So, that was a requirement for the Black children?” Remus asked. “Learning French? Latin, too, I presume.”

Sirius nodded, “And the piano. Mother thought it would further bolster the outward appearance of our aristocracy.”

He laughed derisively, “Unfortunate thing was, I actually loved it. Figures, right? I would refuse to practice when she asked, or I would play American ragtime when she made me entertain our family friends. Pissed her off nicely. Then, when I was alone, I would play. Just for myself.”

Remus watched Sirius’ face ripple through a sequence of expressions to match the various emotions loaded into any association with his family.

Remus wanted to slip his fingers through Sirius’ hand, and hold it tightly. Instead, he remained motionless, just watching, and letting Sirius process his feelings.

“I haven’t played in months,” Sirius contemplated, running his fingers over the keys and receiving a coat of dust in return. He perked up, his face resorting to the impish look it wore a majority of the time as he said, “Wonder if I’m still any good. Let’s see, shall we?”

He smiled fetchingly at Remus, made a ridiculously pompous flourish with his hand, bowed and settled himself on the low bench parked in front of the neglected instrument.

Remus knew it was his turn to play the part. He silenced the loving uproar of an adoring, albeit nonexistent, crowd and then made a show of taking a seat on the empty couch. He wasn’t sure what to expect from Sirius. It seemed odd to think someone who was flashy, energetic and fast-paced, who loved motorbikes, punk music and entertaining large crowds, could play an instrument as gentle and eloquent as the piano.

But he did. Like a virtuoso, with grace and emotion that came whipping around Remus. Already trigged by the story of Sirius’ awful experience at home, the music further wrapped him in a blanket of bracing melancholy.

With the lovely but haunting melody created by Sirius’ fingers as a background, Remus found himself capable and even desirous of conjuring certain thoughts and examining some of his own memories that were normally too painful to revisit.

The trauma of being bitten while he slept by a werewolf seeking revenge in the worst possible way. The anguish of his first transformation, when he experienced his human body being ripped away and he genuinely believed in his young undeveloped mind that he could not, and did not want to, survive the excruciating pain. The sorrowful weight he endured each month when faced with the depressing inevitability of the full moon. The poorly concealed but unintentional look of concern and sometimes even fear he received from his father at dawn each morning after.

His mother getting sick.

She grew more pallid, moved more feebly, spoke with less reason each day. The only activity she could engage in near the end – as her life began to set – was playing the piano. She lost her mind, but she did not lose her ability to manipulate the keys into creating a masterpiece. Until she died. Then the music stopped.

His head stooped, Remus pressed a hand against his eyes. He was only mildly surprised to find his cheeks warm and wet with tears. His lip was sore from having been relentlessly clenched between his gritted teeth for several minutes.

Having run out of tears, Remus was filled with an emptiness that felt clean and comfortable. Around him, Sirius’ music continued to swirl and dance. The melody was prepared, having expunged him of hidden sorrows, to replenish him with a peaceful sort of pleasantness. Not one that demanded he do something, not even smile, but one that let him just be.

The candles Sirius had magically lit were almost all reduced to rippling puddles of wax. Their lavender scent had long since permeated the air like an invisible balm.

The diminishing light, combined with the relaxing aroma and the refrains from Sirius’ meandering song, constructed cobwebs in Remus’ mind. He let his head fall back on the musty sofa and closed his eyes. He felt drained. He wanted only to rest.

Next thing he knew, he was brought back to the Potters’ small, cozy attic by the touch of a gentle hand on his cheek. The hand brushed his bangs from his forehead and then rested along the curve of his jaw, the thumb pressing into his cheek and making tiny, irregular arcs.

“Moony.”

It was a voice that belonged in Remus’ private, secluded dreams as much as the stark reality of day. No other sound could match its power to kindle such organic, unprocessed sensibilities in Remus.

“Moony.”

The hand had moved back toward the nape of his neck to lightly cradle his head. Tentative fingers slid partially into his hair, twisting a few of the soft brown strands on their way.

“Padfoot.”

With great determination, Remus opened his eyes, and he couldn’t help smiling when the light green orbs connected with grey. Above Sirius’ eyes, however, his elegantly arched brows were knitted together in consternation.

“Have you been crying?”

If anyone else had asked, Remus would have felt sure it was a taunt. But Sirius’ voice suggested only earnest concern, even affection.

“Yeah,” he dispelled of his breath in a single harsh laugh heavy with self-reproach. “Bloody pathetic, isn’t it? I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help it. Your music is just too morose, Padfoot.”

His words sounded brittle instead of joking, as he had intended, and they did not seem to alleviate Sirius’ concern.

“Don’t say that – it’s not pathetic, Moony. What’s wrong?”

“Padfoot,” said Remus, not wanting to trouble his already burdened friend with antiquated pain that somehow still had the power to emerge from the past to rear its head, “you just finished telling me you don’t like my being upset.”

“Moony, that’s not what I meant,” said Sirius, growing only further concerned, and now appearing guilty, as well, much to Remus’ dismay. “I don’t like it, but that’s because … well, I just want to fix it. Now, c’mon, tell me, what were you thinking about?”

“Just about what happened to you. And strolling down memory lane. Revisiting the past a bit.”

“Your bite?”

Sirius’ question was uttered from a tense jaw. Remus knew his friend couched a fiercely loyal anger regarding the repulsive incident, as well as hatred toward the foul creature responsible for disrupting, nearly destroying, Remus’ life at the unripe age of five.

Remus nodded.

“Anything else?”

“My … my mum.” Just saying the words out loud caused a painful lump to sprout in Remus’ throat. Fresh tears stung his eyes.

Sirius’ features languished under the weight of renewed worry. It had been two years since Remus’ mother passed away, but Remus’ friends never hesitated to show sympathy when their normally tough, resilient and unflappable friend occasionally needed to revisit his grief.

Sirius slowly lowered himself beside Remus, taking the werewolf’s perpetually nicked up hand between his own. His slender, pale fingers formed a warm, reassuring cocoon.

Remus could feel an intent gaze upon him, but it was not demanding. It was protective. It promised to watch over him so he could safely lose himself in the throes of agony once more if need be. It was the look, Remus recognized, that Sirius gifted him every month before assuming the form of a faithful canine guardian and companion.

Unable to stop himself, despite the confusion and strain of their relationship over the past few months, Remus sank onto his back and lowered his head to rest on Sirius’ lap. Without missing a beat, Sirius began to methodically run his fingers through Remus’ brown, uncombed hair. Their right hands remained clasped, resting against Remus’ clavicle.

“She played, too, you know,” Remus explained, his voice a bit gravelly. “Those are some of my best memories. Reading a book or working on homework while her music surrounded me like a fortress. But she could also use it to make me laugh,” his mouth crooked up as he remembered one such occasion when she had composed a ‘Bad Day’ theme song and played it in jest every time Remus was particularly grumpy.

“She was carefree and whimsical – well, more than usual – when she was playing. Even on some of the worst days. She kept playing. Until the end.”

It was hard to speak around the lump in his throat. But under Sirius’ empathetic and watchful gaze, Remus felt compelled to vocalize his pain, just for his own relief.

“It gave me comfort. The fact that she still could play, even when she started to not recognize me and my dad. It helped me believe that, deep down inside, she still knew herself. At least a little.”

Sirius sucked in his breath, as if in pain. His face was twisted into a grimace. “Damn, Moony,” he murmured, grappling for an appropriate response. “That’s … well, it really… really…”

“Yeah.” The word was a mere whisper.

Silence dropped over them, and the entire room followed suit. Except for the wind softly lapping the window outside, a perfect stillness prevailed.

Laying with his head on Sirius’ lap, having just shed a few unusual tears and now breaching topics he normally kept quite guarded, Remus did not feel the least bit randy. Nor was that the mood. But it was intimate. Intimate enough to help comprise the core of a momentary connection that felt profoundly romantic.

_Maybe now…? I should say something. I should. I want to… just to know. One way or the other._

To justify any forthcoming action, Remus tallied all the signs of reciprocation he could think of, even if they just barely existed or were potentially mirages.

For starters, Sirius had kissed him, although in a bit of a drunken stupor. _Maybe don’t count that._

But since then, there had been a few significant, telling moments, hadn’t there? Visual exchanges that seemed to communicate meaning external to the occasions where they took place. Words burdened with innuendo. Lingering touches, although always in innocent locations, except for those few moments of extreme closeness on the stairs. It all had happened, hadn’t it?

Remus was brought back to the present by a deep, contented sigh released above his head. Sirius was _here_ , he noted. _This_ moment existed. And it was one of the most intimately raw and revealing Remus had ever shared. That had to count for something.

It was with firm resolve, and his head’s immediate loneliness as it was removed from Sirius’ legs, that Remus sat up and faced his mate, his chin raised and his shoulders squared.

“Sirius,” he began, calmly, keeping his voice so even it bordered on formal, “I have something I would talk with you about – or, rather, we should talk about.”

Sirius was staring intently back at him. His confounded expression, still laced with sympathy, made Remus self-conscious.

_This is ridiculous. I sound like I’m approaching Professor McGonagall, not my best mate. Not the bloke I fancy. There has to be a better way._

Remus exhaled, releasing the pressure on some of his wound up nerves, and shifted in his seat, wiping clammy palms on his trousers. Sirius continued watching him, his countenance unchanged accept for the addition of possible impatience or maybe just inflamed curiosity.

“Padfoot,” he started again, softening his voice, “there’s something I need to tell you. In private. Which we are, so… that’s convenient.”

_You still sound like a bloody fool._

“The thing is… Well, that is to say –”

“You haven’t actually _said_ anything, Moony,” Sirius interjected playfully. He remained quite confused, and Remus figured it was because he of all people rarely wanted for words. His quick wit always provided a quip, a retort or a matter-of-fact explanation befitting each situation.

Remus blushed. Normally he would respond to Sirius’ mockery with a middle finger, but he didn’t want to revert back to that completely platonic, snog-free friend zone yet. Not when something more hovered on the horizon.

He wished he still was holding Sirius’ hand. But it seemed a bit clumsy and unnatural to reach for it again. With a small inhale, he opened his mouth to take another approach.

“Moony,” Sirius cut him off – presumably before he could start babbling again, Remus figured. “Is this about the other night?”

Now there was a question. The two had spent nearly every night together since September 1, save for the first two weeks of Christmas holiday. That made for a wealth of ‘other nights.’ The particular ‘other night’ to which Sirius alluded was a mystery.

 _Leave it to Padfoot to come to my aid using a method so vague and lacking in context that it’s entirely unhelpful. Well_ , _I can be equally vague,_ Remus decided.

“The other night…?” he ventured cautiously.

In his mind, he was daring Sirius to pay credence to The Other Night. The night that contained their first, clandestine kiss. The one that seductively haunted Remus’ dreams and subtly irritated every day after. The night Remus met himself in an entirely new light.

“After the Yule Gala. With Elizabeth,” Sirius provided.

Remus’ high hopes crashed, dragging his rapidly hammering heart down with them. Sirius’ rendezvous with Elizabeth in his and Remus’ shared bedroom nearly topped the list of subjects Remus did not want to discuss at the moment.

He had nothing to say on the matter, so he prompted Sirius to continue with a quizzical look.

“Well, it’s just that, you seemed a little miffed about the matter,” Sirius shrugged, but then he looked down at his hands, almost bashful. That intrigued Remus. “I dunno. It’s never seemed to bother you before. My fooling around. In our bedroom, I mean. Well, and in general. At least that I’ve ever noticed. I thought maybe…”

From among the rubble, Remus’ hopes tentatively started to rise once again. The shaggy black curls obscuring Sirius’ downturned face were brushed away with an impatient hand as the teenager cocked his head to the side, deliberating.

What to say remained just out of Remus’ reach, and he opted instead for sustaining his silence.

Suddenly, Sirius whipped up his head and stared directly into Remus’ eyes with a look resembling defiance. “Well?”

The action was familiar to Remus. True to his nature, Sirius chose wielding bravado as a means of out-performing, or at least disguising, any display of nerves.

“Well, what?” Remus responded evenly, eyebrows raised, collected coolness being his own method of dealing with perceived confrontation.

“Were you?”

“Was I _what_?”

Remus’ pulse was racing once again. Between their terse phrases, an unspoken battle of wills seemed to be underway, simmering in palpable tension that was, frankly, arousing. Remus hoped it was not only in his mind that they both were challenging the other to be the first to fold and confess.

“ _Bothered_.” Through an obstinately clenched jaw, Sirius’ voice dressed the word as a double entendre.

Remus’ throat and mouth felt parched. He licked his lips in a desperate attempt to alleviate the dryness. The involuntary action caused him to think of Sirius’ tongue.

Sirius’ warm, wet tongue inside his mouth. His sumptuous mouth, which was right there, in front of Remus, beckoning his eyes to scan its elegant curves and shadowed divots.

He was slammed by an impulse to do more than look at it. He wanted, needed, to feel it once again pressed against his own mouth.

Sirius’ aggressive boldness seemed to be dripping away. His eyes no longer flashed, but were subdued by something deeper, darker, hazier. Something, Remus dared to hope, like the mirrored image of his own torrid lust.

Remus’ hand slowly began drifting up toward Sirius’ neck, his head twisting as it started closing the space between the two. Sirius audibly sucked in his breath but remained still as Remus advanced.

“Sirius Black.”

So preoccupied was Remus in venturing an action he had fantasized about in intricate detail for the past two months that the sound of James’ voice intruding their intimate moment from the front pocket of Sirius’ jeans startled him immensely. He flinched and pulled back immediately.

“Sirius Black.”

It was not the first time Remus thought to himself, “ _Sodding James Potter_ ,” but it might have been the first time he actually meant it as more than an affectionate jibe.

Sirius was slow to shake off his stupor, as well. He blinked, as if emerging from a daze, and looked disoriented for a second. Then he, too, realized the source of James’ now impatient voice, and he pulled out his two-way mirror from his pocket.

“Hey, Prongs,” he smiled. A flush of scarlet was blossoming on his pale cheeks.

“Where are you at? I’ve looked bloody everywhere!”

“In the attic.”

“Is Moony with you?”

Sirius glanced at Remus. His expression was undecipherable. “He’s with me.”

“Well, get your arses down here! I have something to show you! I’m not telling you what it is. Except to say it’s something we can take out for a bit of a fly before dinner.”

Sirius at once lit up with excitement at the mention of flying and the idea of James having a new broomstick.

“Wicked. All right, mate. We’ll be right down.”

He stowed the mirror and looked over at Remus, expectantly. His face was an invitation, but for what, Remus was uncertain.

“Well, let’s go, then,” Remus said, trying to sound perky instead of intensely frustrated.

When a shadow of disappointment danced across Sirius’ pretty face, and he responded almost reluctantly, “Oh, right then. Yeah, let’s go,” Remus wished helplessly that he could snatch the words back.

 _What the bloody hell is wrong with you?_ He admonished himself. He wondered dismally if there was any way to reclaim the now departed mood.

Not that it mattered. Before he could catch his breath, Sirius had re-assumed cheerfulness. His eyes brightened deviously and he clasped Remus’ wrist. “Let’s Apparate downstairs, just to piss off Prongs. He _hates_ it when I do that.”

Having been able to take his Apparition test with others who had come of age during first term, he never missed an opportunity to use the skill around James, needless as it might be.

Remus chuckled, even though he felt disgusted with his mishandling – or rather not handling – of this delicate situation. For there _was_ a situation, Remus felt sure. A confusing, disconcerting, nondescript situation.

As he was pulled and twisted through space by means of Sirius’ strong grip, he acknowledged helplessly _, I have no idea what I’m doing. Or what I should do. But that seems like a poor, sodding excuse._

Remus J. Lupin had never pegged himself as an idiot, but he was starting to suspect it might be time for a reevaluation.


	6. The Doe's Diversion

January was temperamental, vacillating between volatile, stormy mornings and dreary, petulant afternoons. Remus’ mood, it would seem, had found an indistinguishable companion.

As they launched into the new term, he, James and Peter started their Apparition lessons each Saturday with the Ministry representative, Heads of House and nearly all other sixth-years. On top of that, in preparation for their next match against an uncommonly talented Hufflepuff team, James was calling his Gryffindors to Quidditch practices almost daily, even though the onslaught of rain and wind had converted the field into a sloppy bog. With their busy, conflicting schedules, Remus received precious few moments alone with Sirius.

During their holiday at the Potters, an unstated filament was delicately woven into their relationship, so deep it required painstaking precision to locate, let alone identify. While initially grappling with it, Remus thought, or at least hoped, it served as a bond – one of a divergent nature to draw them closer together than was feasible through decorous friendship. As time passed, however, it instead assumed the form of a barrier.

Rather than enjoying a keener attachment and alignment with Sirius, Remus sensed a strange formality inexplicably pop up between them in the few moments of shared solitude they stumbled upon every now and again.

He had no solution for dissolving it, and instead resigned to merely coping with it.

The end result was a cord of tension that stretched from one day to the next, gathering vitality as it journeyed. Remus noticed himself feeling a bit stroppy more often than usual. Consequently, he also had to suffer the guilt that inevitably followed because he knew such emotionally-driven behavior was irrational.

The only provision of any mental relief was his impression that he was doing a fairly proper job hiding the growing frustration, until one morning in Potions when Lily piped up about the matter.

“Remus, I’ve decided this simply will not do,” she announced in whisper.

Confused, Remus glanced up quickly, involuntarily adjusting the pressure of his knife on a sopophorous bean and causing it to pop out and land, unbeknownst to her, in Bridgette Brown’s frizzy blonde hair.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, reaching for another and trying to keep his voice down, even though Lily Evans could talk ask much as she wanted in Professor Slughorn’s class with absolutely no risk of repercussion.

Remus and Lily were among eight Gryffindors who were taking double Potions with the sixth-year Slytherins. Among the lot, only Severus Snape could give Lily’s Potions prowess a run for its money, which made Remus feel fortunate she always opted for sharing a table – and her personal tips – with him as opposed to the brooding Slytherin. Of course, that meant Remus was forced to endure disgruntled, envious glares from Severus throughout the duration of each class period. Being James’ and Sirius’ best mate, however, he was rather inured to that.

“I am talking about the situation with Sirius,” said Lily, sounding exasperated, as if the answer was flashing in neon lights before both their eyes. “It’s not getting better, and it’s not going away.”

“Thank you, Lily,” Remus responded tartly. “I’ve rather realized that on my own.”

“Don’t you dare take your irritation out on me, Remus Lupin,” she shot back hotly. “ _I’m_ not the one who’s had you tightly wound for months. And there’s nothing I can do about it, either, if you know what I mean.”

Ashamed of himself for snapping, and adoring Lily for standing her ground, Remus gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Lily. You’re right.”

She shrugged, dismissing her vexation as quickly as she found it. “So, let’s talk about what _you_ are going to do about it.”

Remus sighed wearily. “I don’t know, Lily, I honestly don’t,” he said, peeling a few pieces of starmin root. He added them to his bubbling chartreuse mixture and watched with satisfaction as the liquid turned into a vibrant lemon color. “Nothing, I suppose.”

She shook her head resolutely. “No. That will not do.”

“Lily,” he said pleadingly, not sure if he was more amused or annoyed at her persistence.

“Remus,” she carried on before he could decide, “I’m tired of seeing you mope like this. It’s not like you.”

“I’m not moping!” Remus disagreed passionately. After a moment of consideration, he added hesitantly, “Am I?”

“A little,” she admitted, honestly but gently. “It’s only that, you’re usually sure of yourself, in your own quiet, determined way. You don’t make a show of your confidence, but it’s there nonetheless. But when it comes to Bla- Sirius, you’re oddly uncertain of yourself. I see no reason for that.”

“Well, you’re not the one who’s besotted, though, are you?” Remus asked pointedly, though her kind words caused a warmth to trickle up his neck.

“Thankfully not,” she retorted.

Remus shook his head, smiling at her stubborn adherence to thorough disapproval of Sirius, but continued, “I don’t know how to explain it, Lily. For years now, I’ve known him, and developed a relationship to him as mates, right? And because of that, we’ve already established all sorts of memories and shared experiences and knowledge of one another.

“When it first hit me that I also find him quite … fanciable, in _that_ way … it’s added a somewhat alarming intensity to an already bloody intimate friendship. The combination just makes for …,” his knife hung suspended over a sprig of lavender as his eyes drifted upward, in hopes the right articulation would materialize above his head. Nothing came.

“I don’t know,” Remus shrugged a shoulder, failing to devise an explanation for how being around Sirius, sharing life with him, steered his heart and mind, as well as his body, to uncover a new understanding of their potential capacities and capabilities in a wonderfully mystifying way. And how terrifying it was to consider losing all that by prematurely disclosing it to Sirius. “I simply want the chance to love him. That’s all. But what if transitioning isn’t impossible?”

Realizing he was gushing deeply personal confessions within earshot of numerous peers – confessions they would be happily scandalized to hear – muffled only by the gentle lullaby of gurgling brews and other miscellaneous whispers, and considering Severus was now casting the pair intensely suspicious glances from beneath his stringy hair, the blush that had started on Remus’ neck promptly took over his face.

Lily looked slightly doe-eyed at Remus’ profession, her lips pressed into a smile that hovered between sympathetic and delighted. Similarly acknowledging the folly of divulging such personal information during Potions, however, she dropped the matter until Slughorn dismissed the class.

Amid the hubbub of teenagers storing their textbooks and returning supplies with unnecessary chatter, she ventured a whisper. “I think you should tell him.”

Not entirely sure he disagreed with her, Remus bypassed arguments for why he shouldn’t tell Sirius and jumped to the reasons he couldn’t.

“I can’t seem to find the right moment,” he explained, also in a whisper, noisily and slowly packing his own supplies to buy them a couple extra minutes. “This term has been hectic. I don’t have any classes alone with him. And James and Pete are _always_ around. Which, don’t get me wrong, I normally enjoy. We have the best times when we’re together. But at this point, I’m so bloody stressed about this that I would give anything for even an hour of time one-on-one with Sirius.”

“Couldn’t you simply ask him to meet up with you somewhere?”

“But where?” Well past making excuses, Remus was urged by an actual need for suggestions and advice. “Somehow, people always seem to be around, especially when it comes to Sirius. You’ve seen how it is… they swarm. It’s like he’s being tracked or something. I suppose we could attempt the Forbidden Forest,” his voice trailed off. He could think of a few other places known only to the Marauders that might offer the privacy he sought. However, they had carefully kept those locations a secret for six years, and he wasn’t about to reveal them now.

“Yes, I see your point,” Lily answered, nodding slowly. She thought for a few more seconds, and then her face brightened. “I’ve got it! We have our first Hogsmeade trip coming up next weekend. That would be _perfect_ , wouldn’t it?”

Remus thought about the idea. It held merit. Except, “James,” he muttered. “We could shake Pete easy enough. He hasn’t been hanging around as much since he started going with Matilda. But I don’t know what we would tell James. And he’s so insatiably curious. One whiff that he possibly might be getting left out of something, and there’ll be no end to his prying.”

Finished cleaning up, he made a move to go, but Lily remained still. After a few seconds of silence, it became clear her attention was captured in her own mind.

Remus recognized the look of pure concentration on her face – the one that warned anyone in close proximity to keep schtum or suffer the consequences. Although slightly confused, Remus waited patiently for a victor to be declared in whatever inner conflict had commandeered her brain for a battleground. At last, she exhaled audibly, her expression now showing signs of having been shaped by despondent surrender.

“Alright, Remus, here’s what I’ll do,” her pinched tone of voice made it clear she was revolted by the words she was forming and the message they relayed. “To give you space alone with Sirius, beyond the meddling of our nosy peers, I will invite James,” she grimaced visibly, “to go share a couple butterbeers with me at The Three Broomsticks. And I’ll make sure we take up a few hours, so you have ample time to converse – … and whatever else you fancy – with _Sirius Black_.”

The way she over-pronounced Sirius’ name with incredulity, but then nodded once, sharply and determinedly, made it seem she’d been informed she failed a Potions exam but had no choice except to begrudgingly accept the result.

Remus’ eyes widened with shock as he digested her words. Bewildered, he stammered, “But Lily, are you – ”

The sudden presence of her flat palm stopped midway between their chests silenced him.

“Don’t you dare try to talk me out of it, Remus,” she warned, her green eyes fierce. “You will succeed, I assure you.”

Remus felt like he had been handed an extraordinary, albeit unbelievable, gift. For a second, he contemplated another attempt at giving Lily the chance to reconsider her offer, but he daringly tossed the temptation aside.

It wasn’t merely that her actions would help facilitate an optimal environment for Remus to finally convey his no longer repressible feelings to Sirius. But her gracious support singularly presented him the courage to believe he had every right do so.

“Blimey, Lily,” he exhaled, swept with gratitude. “I don’t know what to say… Thank you. You very much are the most considerate and kind girl I’ve ever met.”

Lily rolled her eyes at the compliment, but the edges of her lips perked up in satisfaction. When she countered playfully, “most considerate and kind _person_ , I would say,” Remus issued a laugh. A feeling comprised of relief and anticipation swarmed throughout him, overtaking his mind with an acute sense of determination.

“Now, Remus,” Lily continued, becoming stern, “you better follow through. If I suffer an entire bloody afternoon with James Potter, only to find out you reneged on your half of the deal – which is to tell Sirius you fancy him – there will be hell to pay. I’m deadly serious.”

The sparkle in her eyes suggested she wasn’t, but Remus was pressed by the sheer magnanimity of her offer to approach the deal with complete sincerity. Staring straight back at her, he responded resolutely, “I will do it, Lily. I promise.”

Lily’s hand rested on his arm and she inclined her head, her expression soft and poignantly encouraging. “Don’t let me down, Remus.”

* * *

“So, wait…,”Sirius’ face betrayed utter confusion. “Come again?”

He was the picture of skeptical disbelief as he lounged on his bed, resting on his elbows, legs outstretched and white school shirt little more than an accessory for the fact only four buttons were left fastened. His head was slightly jutted forward, as if faulty hearing was the only plausible explanation for the obvious misunderstanding.

James, on the other hand, was displaying a different type of disbelief, one that bordered on mania, as he paced back and forth across their dormitory room, not even playing with the pilfered Snitch he had yet to return but merely wrapping it tight in a blanched hand. His other hand was everywhere – in his hair, adjusting his glasses, fixing his collar, pulling at his sweater, and removing and replacing bits and bobs from his desk.

Remus sat perched on the windowsill, vastly entertained by the scene unfolding before his eyes, but trying to match Sirius’ level of ignorance and skepticism at the news that Lily Evans – witch extraordinaire, exquisite goddess, the epitome of brilliance, et al – was at last capitulating to her fate as James’ future wife and had even made the first move.

“It just – happened,” James said breathlessly, sitting for a second but quickly spurred back into relentless pacing by his restless legs. “She caught up with me – actually came up to _me_! – after Defense Against the Dark Arts. I didn’t even know what to say – caught me completely off-guard.”

“I saw that,” Sirius interjected, his demeanor still dominated by doubt. “I thought she was going to tell you off for hitting Mary so hard with that _Everte Statum_ spell, to be honest.”

“Me, too!” James exclaimed. His ecstatic tone suggested neither forcefully hitting Mary with a spell nor getting told off by Lily bothered him in the least at the moment. “But she didn’t mention that. She just said ‘James’ – she called me James, not Potter, which was the first clue something was amiss – and then she asked, really blunt but it was brilliant, ‘do you want to go with me to Hogsmeade tomorrow?’”

“Then what did you say, Prongs?” Remus asked helpfully. Even though he had prior knowledge Lily planned to ask James that day, he was still interested to hear James’ colorful recounting of the event.

“I was stunned. Speechless,” James admitted, enjoying the attention. He punctuated each word with a superfluous hand gesture.

Sirius took a break from being dubious to remark, “Well, that’s a first.”

James wasted no time casually flipping him off, but continued, completely possessed by excitement, “Finally, I managed to tell her, ‘yes, of course I would.’ Then she smiled, a real smile, I think … Merlin, but she’s beautiful,” his story tapered off for a moment as he gazed wispily out the window, clearly not thinking about his two distinctly non-Lily roommates who both shifted where they sat, waiting – Sirius impatiently, Remus expectantly.

“Oi! Stop thinking about snogging Lily’s face and finish your bloody story,” Sirius said at last, throwing a pillow at James’ head and successfully drawing him out of his reverie.

“Sod off, tosser,” James smiled, his ebullient joy immune to being rattled by anything. He flung the pillow back at Sirius, aiming for his crotch, and dragged his fingers through his untidy hair. “After I told her, ‘yes,’ she said, ‘Glad to hear it. I’ll meet you in the courtyard at noon and we’ll walk over together, shall we?’ Together. That’s what she said. ‘Together.’ I,” he paused dramatically, a corked bottle about to burst, “am going on a date with Lily Evans. Me!”

He flopped onto his bed, both clenched fists raised straight into the air in celebration of his apparent victory. His eyes were shut tight, savoring the moment.

“It’s happening, lads!” he whooped. “It’s finally happening! And it’s all been worth it. All the waiting. She… is going to be _mine_.”

Sirius wagged his head and chuckled scornfully at James’ outrageous behavior, yet he was clearly pleased to see his mate so irresistibly happy.

“Well, I suppose that means we won’t be seeing much of you in Zonko’s tomorrow, then, will we?” Remus asked reproachfully, as if to join in ridiculing James’ infatuation instead of verifying his own surreptitious victory.

James disposed of a loud guffaw. “Not a chance! I will be spending every single moment with Lily. Sorry, Moony, Padfoot. Looks like you two will somehow have to survive without my company tomorrow.”

“What a shame,” Sirius deadpanned.

Remus dropped his head for an instant to hide his secret smile. Rarely had he experienced an excitement such as this – uncontainable and absolute, threatening to seep outward through at least one facet of his expression and reveal its presence if he wasn’t careful.

Composed, he looked up, sighed mournfully, and asked in the same dry tone as Sirius, “What _ever_ will we do with ourselves?”  

* * *

_This is it._

Remus leaned against the hard steel sink in the Prefects’ Bathroom, supporting his weight on locked arms.  

For once, he had refused to preemptively arrange the details for how he would approach – and hopefully not assault – Sirius with the news that ardent affection for him as a friend had, as of late, been augmented by Remus’ recurrent desire to kiss him when he returned to their common room sweaty and disheveled after Quidditch practice, a commitment to engender his happiness whenever possible and a clandestine but stonking appreciation for his arse.

Now he was feeling the consequences of his lack of planning. It was 11:47 a.m. Thirteen minutes before they would see James off on his date with Lily and then, presumably, start trekking together through the recent snowfall to Hogsmeade. Thirteen minutes for Remus to make sure his courage was intact.

“Lily went out of her way for you,” he quietly reminded his peaked reflection in the mirror. “And what she said is true – this isn’t going away. Might as well give it a shot. You have nothing to lose.”

Well, that wasn’t true, exactly. Sirius could be so offended or disgusted by this disclosure he felt compelled to desist contact with Remus and effectively end their friendship, likely taking Pete and James with him. Remus could, for all he knew, be laying the foundation for the total implosion of the Marauders like a selfish bastard.

“Don’t go there,” Remus hastily commanded himself in response to the rise of nausea in his chest.

One of Sirius’ defining characteristics, and Remus’ favorite qualities, was his loyalty to his friends. It was he who first pitched the idea of learning how to become Animagi to accompany Remus through the toll of each full moon. He continued to fervently champion the cause, even when it proved more difficult than they anticipated.

If Sirius could withstand the revelation of Remus being a werewolf, certainly he would take this comparatively harmless revelation in stride, no matter that it personally involved, if not affected, him.

Remus glanced at his watch. It was time.

His steps echoed within the confines of the deserted fifth-floor corridor as he hurried toward the stairs, ignoring the seeds of doubt and needling questions soliciting for his attention. He preferred to consider it too late to turn back now.

Outside, he found Sirius and James standing beneath the stone canopy encircling the courtyard. Sirius was engaging James in a pep talk analogous to the one Remus had just delivered to himself. Their breath formed tiny billows of translucent ivory in the bitterly frigid air of early February.

“It’ll be corking,” Sirius was saying, backhanding James on the arm for emphasis. “You’ve nothing to worry about, Prongs.”

James’ face showed a few traces of rare trepidation. His eyes kept darting about, checking for Lily among the students flowing into the courtyard in small groups, generally comprised of House mates. Remus took up post beside James’ other shoulder. Folding his arms across his chest to gird himself against the cold, he added firmly, “Just be yourself. No showing off. She won’t be impressed by that.”

“Exactly,” Sirius agreed. “Just be with her as you are with us – your charming, irresistible self.”

James nodded, although it was unclear if he was actually registering any of their consultation.

“Ask her where she wants to go throughout the afternoon,” Remus hastened to include. “And offer to pay for her drinks, but don’t insist.”

James’ tongue darted out to lick his lips nervously. “I will, I will.” His voice sounded sort of choked, as if he was trying to stifle his nerves with gruffness. “Should I – do you think I should make a move?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Of course.”

Upon saying the words in unison, Sirius and Remus craned their necks to look at each other around James’ head. Both cast looks of disparaging wonderment that the other could give such daft advice.

“Padfoot...,” Remus shook his head, as if admonishing an ignorant child.

“Moony.” Sirius said, equally reproachful, as if patronizing an oblivious prude.

James glanced between the two, suddenly frenzied. “Well… which is it? Yes or no?”

“No,” Remus said resolutely, still staring pointedly. “You don’t want to come on too strong.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. He turned his face forward as he muttered under his breath, “Of _course_ not. Merlin forbid you actually demonstrate your affection for someone you fancy. Better to leave her in confusion.”

Barely catching the words, Remus’ skin instantly started prickling with humiliation. He felt almost ashamed, and then sharply defensive as he wondered if Sirius had intentionally designed his words for that purpose. To challenge Remus.

 _Just you wait_ , he vowed haughtily.

Swallowing his embarrassment, he externally ignored the comment and said calmly and decisively, “Trust me, Prongs. I know Lily best out of us all. I don’t think she would appreciate it. Just not yet, alright?”

“Moony’s right,” said Sirius, a little too quick to agree. That and the subtle signs of contrition around his eyes made Remus easily excuse the negative reactions caused by Sirius’ previous statement. “He does know Lily best. I’d take his word for it.”

Adjusting his glasses, James was about to nod again when his wandering eyes came to an abrupt halt and his face lit up. “There she is! This is it, lads. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck,” Remus and Sirius called out, addressing James’ back, for that was all that was left of him as he sauntered, a little too swiftly to look confident, over to Lily’s side.

Left alone, the magnitude of the task before him dawned on Remus afresh, accompanied by an uptick in his heart rate.

“Where’s Wormtail?” He asked casually.

He was trying hard not to look at Sirius, but then he wondered if that was even more telling of his nervous state. The debate bounced back and forth obnoxiously.

Sirius shrugged. “He told us he was meeting up with Matilda, and left a bit ago. Where were you, by the way?”

“Nowhere,” Remus shrugged, as the two started following the hoard of students toward the gate. “In the library. I needed to check some information for a Charms assignment.”

He supposed it was obvious he put absolutely no thought into his alibi. Even for him, scurrying to the library to do non-urgent research on a Saturday morning, cutting it fine to their departure for Hogsmeade, was a bit unbelievable.

Sirius seemed to think so, as well, for he was eying Remus quizzically. Remus chose to ignore him. His mind was whirring, trying to spontaneously generate his next move.

 _This is why I always put thought into things_ , he rebuked himself for trying a new strategy on such an important endeavor.

Hit with an idea – half-baked thought it was – he stopped walking.

“Padfoot,” he grabbed Sirius’ arm, causing him to stumble a little and give Remus a look that bluntly questioned, _What the bloody hell?_ “Let’s take a different route to Hogsmeade. One of ours.”

“What? Why?” Sirius asked, observing Remus suspiciously.

“I just want to,” Remus answered impassively, internally begging Sirius to let the matter go without too much inquiry. “I don’t feel much like being around other people at the moment. Got a searing headache.”

Sirius’ confusion contorted to concern. “Are you alright? Sure you don’t want to stay at school, then, and get some rest?”

“No, no,” Remus said hastily, sensing his badly shaped control over the situation slipping precariously. “I would simply prefer to have a little peace and quiet, at least until we reach Hogsmeade. Let’s take the One-Eyed Witch route, shall we?” 

“Okay,” Sirius said slowly, his eyebrows drawn together, illustrating his evident curiosity.

“Okay,” Remus echoed firmly.

He remained silent as he retraced his footsteps back inside and lead the way to the third floor. Much to his relief, Sirius, who was trailing his left shoulder, followed suit, although Remus could almost feel a penetrating gaze burrowing into his back.

He pretended not to notice and continued willing Sirius to simply go along with the change of plans. Fortunately for Remus, Sirius was very good at that.

Sirius’ eyes stayed on Remus as he tapped Gunhilda’s hump with his wand and intoned, “Dissendium.” Sirius slid through hole first, Remus close behind.

 _Now what?_ He wondered restlessly as the stone chute gave way to the hard, moist dirt floor of the tunnel that led underground to Honeydukes.

Inside the passageway, the boys were enclosed by a damp, heavy darkness, which ironically felt familiar and friendly. Sirius pulled out his wand as well, and with a silent incantation, lit the end to illuminate their path down the chilled, winding pathway.

Finally, Sirius broke the silence. “Everything alright with you, Moony? Besides your headache, I mean. You feeling alright?”

“Yes, of course,” Moony lied, grateful the surrounding blackness at least partially obscured his face. “Why do you ask?”

“You don’t seem yourself today,” Sirius answered honestly. “You’re being a bit impulsive, for one thing – that’s certainly not like you. And sort of distracted. I just sense that … well, I don’t what it is, but that something’s up.”

“No. No, nothing,” Remus replied, sure the response would hardly be satisfactory to Sirius.

“Hmm. Very well.” Sure enough, Sirius didn’t sound entirely convinced, but his response to the awkward strain between them, heavy with unnatural pauses, was to begin rambling rather than pressing.

“Prongs certainly was nervous, wasn’t he? I haven’t seen him in such a state for a while – not even when we last played Slytherin. He’s a sappy twonk,” Sirius scoffed good-naturedly.  “Hopefully it turns out for the best, though. It would be nice if he could nab her. Then we might hear the end of his lover’s lament tosh, and steer him back to focusing on more important matters.”

Sirius paused to take a breath and Remus interjected mildly, “Padfoot.”

Perhaps expecting and wanting to avoid another stiff, futile conversation that called the exact nature of their friendship into question, Sirius ignored the interruption and hastily continued, “For instance, we really need to formulate a plan to repay bloody Mulciber for that nasty business he pulled on Macdonald. What a scrote he is. She was laid up for nearly a week! Exactly the type of cruelty those filthy Slytherins try to pull off as a prank. Sick bastards, the lot of them. Ought to be eradicated. Anyway, that was months ago. We’ve been saying we would come up with appropriate retribution, but we haven’t made any headway. Now, what I was thinking…”

Although Sirius continued, Remus lost track of what he was saying, his attention instead pleasantly captured by the other teenager’s animated eyes and the various shapes his lovely mouth made when he talked.

Yet, Remus had crafted this situation with a very specific purpose in mind, and Sirius’ long-winded, detail-heavy deliberation about how Mulciber’s comeuppance should be harsh enough to make him rue the day he took a shot at Mary Macdonald, but not so harsh the Marauders got expelled was forming an obstruction.

Beginning to feel almost overrun with anticipation, Remus determined, _Enough is enough._

“Padfoot,” he blurted out, sharply cracking through Sirius’ spoken enjambment. “Stop talking.”

Sirius looked shocked. Then slightly affronted. What he looked after that, Remus did not know. For he had grasped both sides of Sirius’ open collar and brusquely yanked him closer, assertively kissing the top lip of his partially open mouth.

An enticingly stifled noise of surprise met Remus’ ears, along with the clatter of Sirius’ wand slipping from his fingers and striking the floor. Then Sirius’ lips closed forcefully around his.

Remus immediately succumbed to the dizzying disorientation of being lost in the wet heat of Sirius’ mouth. Weaving his fingers into Sirius’ shoulder-length curls, he sent his tongue in between Sirius’ lips in search of his. Finding it effortlessly, he licked roughly against it and then continued the dance, gliding his tongue on the underside of Sirius’ top lip.

Each kiss, each breath, each lick was reciprocated passionately in turn as Sirius clasped strong hands on Remus’ face, holding him in place to weather the erotically daunting storm of their fervor.

Grasping the hair at the nape of Sirius’ neck, Remus yanked down gently. Reveling in the feel of Sirius’ young, rough stubble against the edge of his nose as it dragged along Sirius’ cheek, Remus nipped the corner of his jaw and then descended along the pale neck, alternating the suction of forceful kisses with the relieving moisture of his lapping tongue. Sirius’ fingers were like claws, sinking sharply into Remus’ shoulders.

Remus had intended for this interlude to involve more talking. He wondered if he should make an attempt at some confession of feelings. But he was finding it easier to express what he wanted by simply deepening the kiss.

 _We’ll have time for that later_ , he reasoned, too engrossed in staggering physical sensations to form any other orderly thoughts.

Sirius moaned softly, and Remus, driven by a blindingly acute need for further contact with the well fit body before him, could not stop himself from pressing heavily against it.

“Sirius,” he whispered, thrilled that his compulsive utterance of his best friend’s name while submerged in arousal at last corresponded with Sirius physically being there, sharing the euphoria with him.

All of Sirius’ features that Remus had eyed lustily became fair game for his curious hands and mouth. Disregardful of inhibitions, he craved to explore Sirius’ smooth milky neck, his firm defined chest, the cords of muscle around his waist. The intriguing hard bulge in his trousers.

Remus deliberately caressed every part, trying to mentally imprint the distinct sensations they produced. While Remus breathlessly indulged a revolving series of impulses, Sirius planted his mouth on Remus’ neck, sucking seductively, letting Remus have his way and enjoying it, if his moans were any indication.

“Remus,” he murmured.

Remus started. He had never heard the syllables of his name swaddled in a baritone, needy whisper quite like that. And it was uncommonly powerful. In that seductive auditory case, his name transformed into a different entity entirely – it was a plea, a curse, a prayer, a reverent refrain.

Remus immediately longed to hear it again, so he continued the southward journey of his hands. When they met the unmistakable hardness of Sirius’ erect prick through his trousers, Remus was inclined by irresistible desire to drag his knuckles along the ridge. He was rewarded just as he wanted, with another more guttural, more greedy iteration of, “Remus.”

Unsure whether he actually needed spoken permission, but longing to hear it, to actually hear Sirius confirm aloud that he wanted this as much as Remus did, he murmured throatily against Sirius’ lips, “S’alright?” Meanwhile, he swapped his methodical rubs for a solid grip on Sirius’ clothed cock.

In response, Sirius whimpered, but managed to hum a barely coherent, “Mmhmm.”

Quickly opening the clasp on Sirius’ trousers, Remus was suddenly hit by a current of nerves, but an exhilarating one. The flutters buzzing inside were not warnings for him to be apprehensive or scared about what he was about to do. Rather, they coaxed him to rapturously acknowledge what a meaningful proceeding this was, and to cherish it wholly. After all, it was Sirius.

Sirius, who was the bravest, cleverest and most fiercely loyal person Remus had met; Sirius, who Remus firmly believed was particularly deserving of absolute, undying affection and attention; Sirius, who alone possessed power to rankle Remus’ emotions and do in his brain.

Sirius also seemed to be aware of the significance of the moment. He gave Remus one long, slow, thorough kiss and then drew back, so he could watch, breathing raggedly, as Remus firmly folded his hand around the now naked length. With the contact, Sirius released a groan between gritted teeth and dropped his head backward.

Remus also was enraptured, both by the sight of Sirius’ stiff, well-formed cock and how it felt to move his hand up and down the warm, hard flesh.

“God, Padfoot,” he breathed, changing his grip so he could thumb the flushed, sticky head and watching in satisfaction as Sirius bit his bottom lip. Remus’ mind was too hazy to prevent him from admitting, “I’ve wanted this, I’ve wanted you, for a bloody long time.”

“Me, too, Moony,” Sirius said, gasping.

Remus was enthralled to hear that, but stashed it away in the back of his mind to revisit later. Right now, all he wanted was to thoroughly undo Sirius by caressing him, firmer and faster. 

Unable to fully support his weight, Sirius had dropped his body against the rough stone wall of the secret passageway. One of his hands was fisted in Remus’ hair, the other gripped Remus’ hip.

Remus was sure he had never seen anything as appealing as Sirius’ gorgeous face affected by the agonizing pleasure of an oncoming orgasm. With what appeared to be great effort, he lifted his head, his eyes dark and hungry with lust.

“Wait,” he panted. “Let me… too.”

He was yanking on Remus’ sweater, apparently wanting to get rid of it.

This time, Remus did feel unmistakable apprehension. He had devoted meticulous effort to preserving privacy, never letting anyone see the bare skin beneath his clothes. Obviously, throughout the course of nearly six years and dozens of transformations, his best mates had caught glimpses. But Remus associated those accidental sightings with awful, undesirable moments when searing pain had outweighed his commitment to staying hidden.

Remus didn’t know if he was prepared to accept his scars as an inevitable part of a body he wanted desperately to be attractive to a potential lover. What would Sirius think of the unappealing, silvery white streaks when viewing them in this new light?

With profound intuition, Sirius cupped Remus’ chin and lifted his head to connect their eyes. “Moony, please? You have nothing to hide – not from me. _Never_ from me. I’ve fantasized about something like this for … a while. I’ve fantasized about you. And my fantasies always included your scars.”

His hands were still playing tentatively with the bottom edge of Remus’ sweater. Poignantly touched to the point of calm resolve by Sirius’ reassuring sensitivity, the werewolf nodded.

Still staring straight into Remus’ eyes, Sirius gave a small smile and then slowly pulled the sweater up over his head. The smile widened and turned lecherous as he began to run his hands over Remus’ now bare chest and shoulders. Sirius’ breathing became heavier. His fingers, followed by his eyes, traced the grooves of Remus’ skin over contoured muscles. They lingered along those thin pearly lines – still ever so slightly sensitive – that secretly commemorated in their own unsavory way the strength and tenacity of Remus’ character. 

He emitted a soft, whistling exhale. “Damn, Moony. I always figured you were fit … but I didn’t expect …”

Blushing and pleased, Remus swiftly rid Sirius of his shirt, as well. Once they both stood bare down to their trousers, Remus decided it was time for his attention to revisit Sirius’ visible cock, still painfully rigid and leaking.  He licked his hand and sent it down to once more wrap the engorged flesh in perfect pressure.

“Oh, fuck…,” Sirius whimpered.

Remus perceived his own trousers being opened and his boxers clumsily pulled away from his throbbing prick, but his gaze was locked on the arousing sight of Sirius’ length sliding up and down within the taut cylinder of his gripping fingers.

Remus’ cock was soon in an identical position and he was slugged with the epiphany that what he previously thought was bliss paled drastically in comparison to this. This was a bliss that suffocated. A bliss that shattered all coherent thought. A bliss that thrust him into the center of pure, raw sensory stimulation.

In his current consciousness there was Sirius. There was this single moment. There was nothing else.

Tightening his grip and hastening his pace on Sirius’ dick, Remus let himself drown in the string of moans and intermittent curse words spilling from Sirius’ lips.

Intent on finishing his mission to touch every piece of Sirius that he adored, he hungrily slid one of his hands back onto Sirius’ arse, gave it a hard squeeze and pulled Sirius into him so their full, pulsating cocks nearly pressed against one another, separated only by their simultaneously jerking hands.

Engulfed in steamy heat, his body sweating and quivering, Remus could feel his own muscles slowly giving way to mounting tension just as Sirius spluttered, “Rem, I’m… gonna’ – ” followed by a final low, pained groan and the sensation of warm, thick cum splashing on Remus’ hand and dribbling downward.

Sirius’ mouth hung partially open to draw in air, his eyes were sealed shut, his face covered in a sheen that captured the messy strands of hair that fell onto his forehead as he rode out his pleasure. Now there was a sight Remus knew he would never get his fill of. It was his undoing.

“Oh, fuck… Sirius,” he whispered through a throat that didn’t seem to be working properly for the sense of suffocation he felt. “Sirius… “

Remus’ head sank onto Sirius’ warm, naked shoulder, and he couldn’t help lightly biting the damp flesh as he was bathed in the ecstasy of his own much-needed release onto Sirius’ hand.

Sweet sensory satisfaction. For several seconds, or maybe minutes – it didn’t seem to matter – Remus couldn’t move, and so he decided not to. He simply lay against Sirius, each boy tightly wrapped in the other’s embrace.

Once his pulse had nearly settled back down and he rediscovered his ability to physically maneuver, Remus peeled himself away from Sirius, who lazily opened his eyes and smiled, looking spent, smug and supremely satisfied.

“Well,” Sirius quipped, smirking and wiping the sweaty hair off his face, “I think it’s safe to say we’ve officially ruined our friendship.”

Remus tried to keep a straight face as he replied, “I never did care much for you anyway.”

“Ah, well,” Sirius shrugged, but then his expression of feigned indifference melted into a smile of genuine affection and he pulled Remus’ face forward to give him another kiss, this one soft and tender.

Remus eagerly kissed him back, pausing to murmur, his lips only a few inches from Sirius’ mouth, “Padfoot, I sort of fancy you in a very non-friend-like way.”

Sirius smirked again, and he replied in a similarly low voice, “I sort of gathered as much, Moony. … And I sort of do, too.”

Remus’ heart cheered and his mind accepted that perfection, at least in doses, does truly exist.

While Sirius spelled away their mess of cum, Remus reached down to pick up their discarded garments.

“Did you know?” He asked.

Sirius thought for a second. “I hoped.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Sirius gave a blunt laugh. “You’re one to talk. Why didn’t _you_ say anything? I’m the one who came onto you like a needy slut when we were drinking that night.”  
Remus was surprised. “So, you did remember? I could’ve sworn…”

Sirius didn’t meet Remus’ eyes and his cheeks flushed as he responded, “How could I not? But you didn’t bring it up, and I figured you were just being a good friend and trying to help me not feel bad about it. I thought that was your answer. And I was too nervous to actually say anything more – not after that.”  
Remus’ mind was whirling to learn so much information that contradicted everything he had led himself to believe over the past few months. Upon hearing Sirius’ last sentence, though, he couldn’t help repeating, a bit incredulously, “ _You_ were nervous? But nothing ever makes you nervous.”

“ _You_ make me nervous.” This time Sirius did look into Remus’ eyes, brazenly, and it was Remus’ turn to become a bit bashful. However, he simultaneously felt certain every word Sirius uttered was causing him to fall harder into somewhat crippling depths of adoration. 

“I should have said something sooner,” Remus mused, wondering at how misguided his conjectures had been.

Sirius grinned and gave a quick shrug, responding lightly, “I’m glad you have at last. Put me out of my misery.”

Remus chuckled, “Mine, too. I’ve been going a bit mad …thinking about you, wanting you.”

“So, what now?” Sirius asked tentatively.

Remus had been so consumed with executing his resolution to share his feelings with Sirius that he hadn’t got around to contemplating the logistics of a possible “now.”

“Now… I get to lay in a bed a few meters from you with a more vivid and accurate mental image of how you look naked?” he offered lamely.

Sirius laughed softly. “That’s going to be a blast, isn’t it?” He paused, thinking through the situation. “How about, we just see what happens. We don’t have to decide anything. … But let’s keep it to ourselves for a bit, alright? I’m not prepared for Prongs to know, or Wormtail. I want us to have the chance to sort of… figure this out, before dealing with _that_.”

Remus assumed by “that,” Sirius was referring to James’ unpredictable reaction. It was difficult to foresee whether it would veer more toward general disapproval of their relationship or more toward the specific conviction that this distinct, private bond between Remus and Sirius was a betrayal of their foursome. Remus knew only one thing for certain: James was not capable of a non-reaction.

“Yeah, alright,” he agreed reasonably.

“If we don’t want to raise questions, however, we might want to get rid of that.” With a teasing smile, Sirius ran a finger down the side of Remus’ neck. Remus shivered. Sirius touching him so deliberately and tenderly was still wonderfully strange.

Remus reached a hand up to touch the sensitive skin. He figured Sirius’ concentrated attention to the area with his lips and teeth had left a burgeoning, maroon bruise. He rather liked that idea. He liked it even better when Sirius added, “It _is_ kind of sexy, though.”

Having dispelled with all evidence of their passionate frot, the boys continued on their way toward Hogsmeade. Sirius used one hand to hold a cigarette to his lips. The other he assertively clasped with Remus’, as if it was the most natural proceeding in the world.

Remus felt a lightness, a purified joy, steep into his veins and spread through the entirety of his body. Glancing at Sirius, he detected a similar state of serene happiness.

He mentally flipped through possible things to say, phrases to communicate his sentiments or to express how happy Sirius made him, but each one struck him as an insufficient platitude.

 _Perhaps silence_ , he determined, _is the most perfect herald of exultation at the moment. I’ll find plenty of ways to demonstrate how much I care for him for many years to come._    

Leaning his body slightly into Sirius’ as they walked, and soaking in his contentment at Sirius’ physical mass being so delightfully close and accessible, Remus asked, “Now, tell me again, what’re we going to do about Mulciber?”


	7. Wading In

There was definitely something different about Hogsmeade that afternoon, Remus felt sure of it.

Maybe it was how the sky took a short break from being dark and grumpy and, in the lull, allowed the sun to peek out its face, not long enough to generate true warmth but long enough to bounce its rays off the snow and set the village sparkling.

Maybe it was how the storefront windows had been spruced up in the name of exceptionally early spring cleaning, as if owners were trying to whisk away winter by displaying magically-enhanced flower arrangements and pastel signs heralding sales and the arrival of new products.

Maybe it was how close Sirius walked beside Remus, as though they had wordlessly committed to a mutual campaign of covertly and “accidentally” touching one another whenever possible throughout the afternoon.

As they approached the entrance to Zonko’s Joke Shop, Sirius shoved Remus inside first and then, concealed by a tightly packed, swirling crowd, let his hand linger several seconds on the small of Remus’ back. So soft, so slight, so seductive.

Their next stop was Esmerelda’s Book Emporium, where Sirius started making not-so-subtle hints that they’d overstayed his pleasure before even 30 minutes had passed. His snide whispers continued until they happened upon a deserted aisle. Passing behind Sirius, who was slightly bent forward, resting his folded arms and shaggy black head on a shelf and still badgering Remus to ‘hurry the hell up,’ Remus recklessly leaned himself over Sirius’ body for an instant, grazing his backside with an open palm, forcefully kissing the side of his neck and effectively shutting him up.

It was a bit strange to carry the weight of a secret such as this while passing by their school mates and sharing casual waves and greetings as if it was any other normal day. By now, Remus and Sirius being side by side – with James a normal part of the lineup – wasn’t so much a custom as it was an expectation.

 _But they don’t know_ , Remus observed, not sure how felt about the matter. _They don’t know_ _what we are, who we are, how we feel._

Truth be told, Remus wasn’t exactly sure of that himself. There were a few certainties – he fancied Sirius in a manner that was unfamiliar to him, Sirius seemed to reciprocate his feelings at least to the degree that would permit hand jobs, and they both wanted an eventual repeat of the afternoon’s earlier activities – and then there were the things Remus believed he wanted for the future – the undisclosed desires that he could barely collect into intelligible thought, let alone articulate. Between those rested a wide, foggy grey area that only time could illuminate.

Remus was still mulling over the hypothetical confluence of fact-based certainty and wishful thinking when they passed by the Three Broomsticks and Sirius stopped them.

“Shall we nip in and see how it’s going?” he asked mischievously.

Remus paused for consideration. This was a tough position to be in. Normally, he would’ve been excited to witness his mate attempting to woo the young lady he adored, mostly in the hopes of getting to later chaff him about his tactics – except Remus knew said young lady had only agreed to the date as part of a scheme, and was not likely to be much wooed at all. However, that could be entertaining to watch, as well, Remus decided.

“Alright,” he agreed. “But we shouldn’t stay long. And we have to make sure they don’t spot us. Prongs would have a fit.”

“Damn Prongs for not letting us borrow his cloak,” Sirius said good-naturedly. “Would’ve come in handy.” Giving Remus a lascivious smile, he added quietly, “There’s all _sorts_ of things we could’ve used it for this afternoon.”

Remus was immediately tingling with the superficial heat of arousal. He involuntarily conjured a mental image of kneeling before Sirius, groping his arse and sucking his cock against the wall of an alley, concealed by the cloak’s magic from pedestrians merely meters away. Remus previously had no knowledge circumstances like risky, semi-public sex turned him on, but his erection was back in full force, making the point quite obvious.

 _Well, that’s new_ , he thought, blushing, and following Sirius into the pub’s enveloping warmth.

They hovered by the doorway for several seconds, taking a shufti round the tavern and trying to not draw attention to themselves, until at last Sirius muttered under his breath, “There they are.”

Lily and James were seated at a small circular table near the middle of the room, immersed in conversation. Two empty cups were pushed aside, and newly replenished ones in hand. The frothy liquid within rocked gently as the couple alternated taking drinks and exchanging sentences in the synchronized dance of a first date.

“Follow me,” instructed Sirius under his breath. He grabbed Remus’ arm and discreetly led them to a corner booth just beyond James’ peripheral vision. Remus thought for a second Lily had seen them, but the subtle furrow of her brow was immediately wiped away as she released a giggle into her hand.

Seated side-by-side in the high-backed booth, facing away from the couple and squished up against the wall, Remus felt confident they would be undetectable.

“What can you see?” he asked softly. In their current seating arrangement, with Sirius on the outside of the booth, he could lean forward and look around the side, securing the better view.

“Prongs is telling one of his stories,” Sirius whispered back.

“How can you tell?”

“Because he’s getting really excited… and moving his hands far too much,” Sirius answered simply, though it was more than enough for Remus to picture precisely what he meant.

James was a fantastic storyteller, partly because he used the art of elaboration to color his tales as brightly as possible while remaining technically truthful, and partly because he himself would become so engrossed and physically enthusiastic, the listener couldn’t help being drawn in.

“How about Lily?” Remus asked tentatively, nervous for the answer.

“She…,” Sirius paused, and appeared slightly puzzled. He took another look at the couple, this one longer, “seems rather intent. Interested. And there, she just laughed… hmmm.”

Remus leaned across Sirius to chance his own hasty glance. True to Sirius’ description, Lily looked far from being miserable. While Remus hadn’t memorized the significance behind all her mannerisms and expressions, he was able to read her fairly well. And watching her opposite of James, smiling and calmly engaging his discussion, it dawned on Remus that Lily Evans was not suffering in her circumstances quite as much as she anticipated. She was even, he would have wagered, rightly enjoying herself.

With their bodies crossed so close together, Remus suddenly became aware of Sirius’ silent breathing. Each exhalation gently fanned his neck and he could feel the subtle fall and rise of Sirius’ chest against his arm. The intimacy sent a swooping sensation through the pit of Remus’ stomach.

“Curious,” he mumbled, righting himself.

“I must admit, I’m a tad disappointed. I was expecting Prongs to be putting on more of his usual antics, but he’s actually behaving himself,” Sirius said. “Except,” he used his right hand to partially conceal his face as he craned his neck a bit further, “wait, what was that? … It looks like he just transfigured his napkin into something. Can’t tell ... Appears to be maybe a … damn it, Prongs.”

“What is it?” Remus urged, trying to decide whether to laugh or groan.

Appearing to suffer from second-hand embarrassment, Sirius turned his face back toward Remus. His nose was scrunched in distaste as he answered, “He turned it into a flower. A lily, to be exact.”

Laughter won out as Remus answered, “Seriously? Oh, Prongs.”

“He just handed it to her,” Sirius shook his head scornfully, “with that corny smile of his – you know the one – like some bloody romantic.”

“Smooth,” Remus said, still chuckling.

“She didn’t throw it back, though, so who knows?” Sirius shrugged noncommittally, and then added with a smirk, “Wouldn’t McGonagall be chuffed to know her meticulous efforts to properly instruct us in the art of transfiguration aren’t going to waste?”

As he leaned back in the booth, he moved his left leg so the entirety of it rested against Remus’ right. That such a simple gesture could get Remus’ emotions bouncing erratically made him strongly suspect he might be as much of a bloody romantic as James.

Careful to stay as hidden as possible, the boys continued observing Lily and James’ interactions from afar, trying to guess from the shapes of their mouths and their body language what they were saying, deriving many highly unlikely, albeit hilarious, suggestions. Much to Remus’ approval, James didn’t as much as reach for Lily’s hand.

After several minutes and a number of laughing fits that were increasing in volume, the boys decided it wise to sneak out while they remained unobserved. Just as Sirius was about to slide off the seat, however, the booth behind their backs became occupied with what sounded like four individuals, and the conversation they were carrying out in hushed tones made Sirius’ body freeze midway in motion.

“…it was the Lestranges, I guarantee,” one of the voices said quietly but self-importantly.

Remus knew it to be that of a sixth-year Slytherin named Avery.

“They don’t use real names with the society, but everyone knows they’re two of the best,” he continued. “Besides, my father keeps me well-informed of what’s transpiring, so I’m prepared to join when I finish school.”

It was easy to tell by his smug, patronizing tone that he was proud to be divulging this top-secret knowledge and thought a lot of himself for being privy to it in the first place. It also was obvious the lot of them were completely unaware of Sirius and Remus’ presence, the divider between the booths being as high as it was.

“Which ones are the Lestranges?” asked a sniveling, eager voice Remus didn’t recognize. The owner also seemed to think highly of Avery for possessing such exclusive information.

Remus glanced toward Sirius. He wasn’t surprised to find there a completely blank, stone-cold expression that was locked forward.

“You know,” Avery continued, seemingly exasperated at having to tolerate a simpleton so far removed from the know when it came to the upper crust of Britain’s wizarding families, “Bellatrix and Rodolphus… I’m sure you’d recognize her at least. She’s the uncommonly pretty one. Exceptional witch. Used to be a Black, until she married him a couple years ago. His father owns an extensive mining operation, and his family possesses some of the greatest wealth in England. Honestly, Jones, don’t you keep up?”

“I’ve seen them around,” said a dark, husky voice that unmistakably belonged to Mulciber. “They’re brilliant. They come round to our home with the Malfoys quite frequently for dinner. We’re never permitted downstairs when they’re visiting, but, obviously, we’ve found ways to eavesdrop on the conversation. And let me tell you,” his voice lowered until it was barely audible, though far more sinister, “They have wonderfully grand plans.”

“Anyway,” Avery continued quickly, sounding irked that Mulciber was attempting to share his spotlight, “that business in London yesterday was undoubtedly their handiwork – quick, clean – three Mudbloods gone with not so much as a trace of evidence. Just the sort of job he appreciates. And just the sort of work Bella and Rodolphus can pull off in a cinch.”

The tension within Sirius’ body was undeniable. Knowing he shouldn’t speak, but not knowing what else to do, Remus gingerly rested his hand upon Sirius’ thigh. He closed his eyes, silently willing some of his reserve and patience to seep into Sirius’ rigid body.

“Merlin, the things I’d do to a tasty dish like her if she wasn’t married…,” Avery jeered lewdly, still smug. “Y’know, I don’t think I’d let even that stop me. She’s the crème of the crop.”

“Well, of course she is,” Mulciber said, sounding annoyed. “She’s a Black.”

“Speaking of the Blacks,” the fourth boy finally spoke up, “has any progress been made on Regulus?”

Remus felt his insides churn when he matched the bored, emotionless voice to none other than Severus Snape. He squeezed Sirius’ thigh, which was still flexed and now slightly quivering with anger.

“Don’t know,” Mulciber responded. “He seems to be coming around, slowly but surely. He’s still a bit young.”

“We’ve invited him to all our gatherings,” Avery added hastily. “You’ve seen – he’s come to a few. Just a bit of a nancy boy, he is. Seems scared to commit. He would rather stay on the fence. My father says his parents are the same way. They’re loyal to the cause, but don’t wanna get their hands dirty.”

“I’ll try talking to him again,” the simpering voice piped up enthusiastically, the boy clearly pleased to finally be of some use to his superior friends.

“Better to have Vanity do it,” Mulciber said slyly. “Her ways might be a bit more, ah… _convincing_ than yours, Jones.”

He was joined in a knowing, scornful chuckle by Avery and the sycophant. Snape was silent.

“If he’s as hot-blooded as his brother, Emma would definitely be the better choice,” Avery chortled in agreement. “She has her methods, and from what I hear, they are very, _very_ convincing.”

Remus couldn’t bite his tongue any more. Sirius was about to erupt, and he greatly desired to leave the Three Broomsticks with the tavern still standing and everyone in proximity unharmed.

“Padfoot,” he whispered. “It’s alright...”

Sirius swallowed visibly and nodded his head, but Remus couldn’t tell if his methodical response was involuntary and detached from genuine compliance. To further ensure Sirius was brought back to the reality of their current situation, Remus rested his head on Sirius’ shoulder. He no longer gave a damn if anyone else in the pub saw them together like this, as long as Sirius’ anger was managed.

“Later,” he muttered, his lips almost touching Sirius’ ear. “We’ll deal with them later.”

“It doesn’t matter how it’s done,” said Snape, irritably. “But it’s of upmost importance that we secure Regulus’ loyalties. We must.”

Of all the things to say, and of all the people to say it, those words coming from Snape were the worst. _Shut the hell up_ , Remus cursed the Slytherin, gritting his teeth in frustration. The strong hands he rested on Sirius’ leg and arm became a hold. With lightning-quick speed, Sirius had pulled out his wand and started out of the seat.

“Padfoot, _don’t_ ,” Remus begged, still whispering.

“Let go of me, Moony,” Sirius hissed, trying to wrangle his arm out of Remus’ grasp.

“Not here, not now,” Remus answered calmly, for once thankful he was stronger than Sirius. “Later.”

“Moony,” he snapped, barely able to contain his outrage. “I’m dealing with this _now_. I have to! You must know that.”

“Padfoot, please. It’s not worth it. Let’s just get out of it. You can Apparate us from here. Right now.”

Sirius stopped struggling for a second. The look on his face concerned Remus. It didn’t reflect the usual brash, generic anger Sirius brandished when it came to his family and the contemporary rise of pure-blood supremacists. This anger was deeper – more personal, more poignant, more painful. Beneath the anger, Remus knew, Sirius was actually hurting. And that emotional reaction was, for him, so rare that its potential impact was alarmingly unpredictable.

“Please,” Remus said again, hoping against all odds Sirius’ affection for him was strong enough that he would give in to Remus’ wishes, at least this once. “There will be a better time. I promise.”

He recognized and appreciated that it was taking every ounce of willpower Sirius possessed for him to even deliberate, before charging head-first into viciously cursing the entire table behind them. At last Sirius sighed, his features still terrifyingly dark with outrage.

“Fine.” The one short, cold word was disproportionately potent. The grip on Remus’ forearm reminded him of steel as the room around them shot out of sight and they were instantly sucked through space.

They came out the other side, landing haphazardly near the entrance to Hogsmeade. Their appearance caused a stir among a small group of young students, some of whom started whispering and pointing excitedly while others stared, a bit dumbstruck.

Remus gave them a shy smile and quick wave, and then hurried after Sirius, who had started walking the trail back toward Hogwarts the minute his feet were firmly established on the ground.

The journey back to the castle was a drearily long, silent one.

 _He must understand_ , Remus said. _He must know I was right. It wouldn’t have been sensible, or even effective, to confront the problem there, surrounded by students, other patrons. We couldn’t start throwing spells in the middle of a pub. He must know that._

Wiping away a few wet flakes of snow that glided onto his cheeks and nose, Remus had to admit his attempt to rationalize with himself stemmed from his own doubt, not certainty. Maybe he should not have reined in Sirius’ behavior. No doubt Sirius was vexed by it. Other than a quick smoke before they reached the gates of the Hogwarts grounds, the only motion Sirius took were long, determined strides forward along the slick, clumpy trail.

Remus wondered if he should let Sirius be for a while. Not that he wanted to. What he wanted was to stay near Sirius, to silently offer his support whenever it was required. Still debating the right course of action, Remus merely followed Sirius upstairs to their dormitory. Fortunately, the Gryffindor Common Room was only sparsely populated for a Saturday afternoon, and their dorm room was still empty when they arrived.

Sirius’ back remained turned toward Remus as the latter closed the door behind them and rested against it. He wanted to say something. Or rather, he wanted there to be a right something to say. But there wasn’t.

 _Let Sirius talk first_ , he instructed himself, practicing the patience that was his default mode.

Suddenly, Sirius rounded on him. His silver eyes were flashing like sharpened steel and Remus feared for a second that his mate might actually hit him.

Throwing quiet reserve to the wind, he started nervously, “Sirius, I’m - ”

But it was Sirius’ lips rather than his fist that made contact with Remus’ mouth. Within a few seconds, Remus was being snogged so passionately and so thoroughly, he had lost all breath. But Sirius didn’t stop. The tongue darting into Remus’ mouth was aggressive and overpowering, threatening to completely unravel his brain with the perfect way it moved, slipping in and over his own oral crevice.

Sirius pressed against Remus harder and harder, until his body was pinned against the door and he could barely move. The only action of which he was capable was reaching his hands around Sirius and thrusting them under his leather jacket. There they grasped the shirt beneath, hanging on and keeping Sirius as close as possible while he continued kissing Remus frenziedly.

With one hand, Sirius assertively clasped a handful of Remus’ hair. His other hand had found its way beneath Remus’ shirt and was clawing none-to-gently at his back.

There was such passion and speed and raw, untamed emotion encapsulated within the kiss. It was the very essence of Sirius. Taking over Remus’ mind and heart, it stripped his persona of every layer and complexity until all that was left was his monstrous, all-consuming desire for this one specific individual. It was a kiss that satisfied every nuance of Remus’ longing, for it epitomized the nature of his longing itself. In Remus’ mind, desire had now and forever assumed the identity of Sirius Black.

Sirius finally pulled back, allowing Remus to swallow large gulps of air.

“What was that for?” he mumbled the question, gazing at Sirius through heavily lidded eyes, not quite able to eradicate the feeling of intoxication left in the wake of Sirius’ masterful osculation.

“You drive me mad sometimes,” Sirius responded, his voice low enough to sound threatening. His hands were flat on Remus’ chest, still pressing, keeping him in place. His breathing also was rough and ragged, his lips swollen and glossy. “Trying to tell me what to do, to make me behave. Pleading with me until I descend into utter bloody submission. Making me want to do anything you say or ask, just because it’s you. You sodding. Drive. Me. Mad. How the fuck is it possible you can do that to me?”

Remus had no answer. At the moment, he wasn’t even sure whether Sirius was pleased or not that Remus controlled such persuasion over him. Before he could attempt any sort of response, however, Sirius had captured his mouth once more, kissing just as aggressively as before until his head cracked against the solid, oak door.

Remus didn’t register pain. He was too horny, surprising considering it had been only a few hours since the pair had got each other off in the underground passageway. Not so surprising considering it was Sirius’ body prompting the reaction.

Remus heard himself whimper under the force of the kiss. His mind was completely disoriented. His turgid cock was sandwiched between his own body and Sirius’. He couldn’t help subtly thrusting his hips forward, rutting against Sirius’ hip, hoping to acquire some relief.

With both hands, Sirius brazenly groped Remus’ arse, and he also rocked his hips back and forth, searching for friction.

“Padfoot, please,” Remus groaned.

He wasn’t sure what he was asking for. More. Something. Anything. Whatever Sirius would give him.

Sucking Remus’ bottom lip for a few seconds and then moving his mouth down to bite gently into Remus’ neck, Sirius acquiesced to Remus’ vague request. His hand snuck beneath the layered cloth of Remus’ trousers and boxers to assertively grasp his aching erection.

“Oh, god,” Remus groaned again.

Sirius’ skillful hand went to work at once. The balanced pull and pressure on Remus’ cock, combined with Sirius vigorously kissing and biting his neck and shoulder had Remus spiraling toward orgasm astonishingly fast.

“Sirius.” The stifled cry was cut off as Remus bit his lip, so hard he eventually detected the metallic taste of blood.

“I want you to come,” Sirius mumbled his command into the hollow of Remus’ collar bone. “Remus…”

If this was Sirius’ way of regaining his sense of control – of making Remus submit in turn – then Remus would happily accept it. Not that he had much of a choice.

Smelling and feeling Sirius all around him, holding him, biting him, kissing him, shoving him, groping him. It was altogether too good to be outlasted by modest restraint. Sirius’ hips were now thrusting ruthlessly so his own excited cock could rub against hard flesh, and Remus found it incredibly erotic. Simultaneously, Sirius’ hand began pumping faster, his grip tightening and slightly twisting, causing a fog to settle over Remus’ brain. The delicious build-up was about to burst.

“Fuck…” was all Remus could manage as the tension broke and glorious ecstasy swept through his body like a cleansing flood.

He could see nothing. Think nothing. All he sensed was his need to breathe. And then also Sirius’ soft lips gently kissing his neck, his chin, his cheeks and his lips. And Sirius’ fingers trailing the side of his face.

“Thanks for being you, Moony,” Sirius murmured.

“Padfoot, you know I –”

Suddenly, Remus felt a pressure coming from behind him. Still dazed, it took a second for him to realize it was coming from the door. Or rather, the force of someone behind the door trying to push it open and enter the room. The realization, followed by harsh rapping and Peter’s voice calling, “Padfoot? Prongs?”, had Remus thumping back down to earth in a heartbeat.

“Shit,” he whispered, trying to repress a nervous chuckle. His hands flew to his open trousers and set about yanking them shut.

A look of irritation possessed Sirius’ face, no doubt because his own pressing need had been left unsatisfied. The grimace only deepened when Peter’s voice could be heard saying, “Mates? I can’t get the door open! It appears jammed. Are you in there?”

“Coming,” Sirius growled, just loud enough for the response to be of use.

Remus could sense his own cum dripping in slick threads along his lower abdomen and groin as he moved away from the door and landed haphazardly on his bed. Sirius yanked open the door.

“Thanks, Padfoot,” Peter huffed, rosy-cheeked and out of breath, as he tumbled into the room.

“My pleasure,” Sirius answered, his sardonic tone contrasting with Peter’s cheerfulness – comically in Remus’ opinion.

“What a day,” Peter chirped happily, either unaware the room was burdened by tension – the palpable manifestation of altered relationship dynamics –or unwilling to acknowledge it. “Had a grand time with Matilda. Any sign of Prongs, yet?”

Sirius, having seated himself on his bed and opened a book – creating a most obvious display something was amiss, Remus couldn’t help thinking – made a noise that hardly communicated the response.

Trying to stifle a chuckle, Remus submitted an additional answer. “Not yet. He should be back soon, though. I imagine he’ll pop in before dinner and walk down to eat with us. I doubt Lily’s made an offer that would motivate him to abandon the Marauders for her.”

“True. The date couldn’t have gone _that_ well,” Peter snickered. He glanced at Sirius, who still appeared engrossed with his textbook. The blond boy’s features became pinched with apprehension when at last it dawned on him that Sirius was in an unfavorable state. The fact that Peter showed concern when Remus knew the source of Sirius’ frustration only heightened the hilarity of the situation in Remus’ mind. “Where did you all get off to today?”

“Oh, the usual,” Remus responded, catching Sirius’ smirk when the latter’s eyes darted up for half a second. “Zonko’s, Esmerelda’s, Honeydukes...”

He skirted around mentioning the Three Broomsticks, uneager to remind Sirius of all that transpired there.

“It was cold as bollocks today,” Peter stated. His effort to continue the conversation seemed aimed at urging Sirius to chime in so the former could rest assured everything was alright. “Lucky for me, I have Matilda to keep me warm on days like this,” he tried to don a mischievous smile but under the influence of his need to please, it looked more like a simper. “No such luck for you single lads. Must be missing the company of a lady friend, eh, Padfoot? Nothing like snogging to ward off the cold. How long has it been now since you enjoyed a good shag?”

Sirius abruptly rose to his feet, causing Peter to start. Knowing where to look, Remus could see an uncomfortable bulge still occupying too much space in Sirius’ pants.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he said curtly, tossing his book aside, and haughtily whipping his curls out of his face with a jerk of his head. “Be back shortly.”

Peter watched worriedly, fidgeting, as the black-haired boy strode out of the room, and then turned back toward Remus, whose face was beginning to hurt from having to remain straight.

“Blast it all,” Peter whimpered. Being unceremoniously cast out of Sirius’ good graces was an infliction nigh unbearable for the boy. “He seemed upset. D’you think it was… was because of what I said?”

Nodding solemnly, Remus responded in his best tone of sympathetic but unavoidable agreement, “Yes, Wormtail. I believe it was.”

 

* * *

 

 

The effect an afternoon spent with Lily had on James was curious and unexpected.

Remus expected to encounter a private spectacle of exuberant braggadocio within their dorm room, but instead, the trio found him in the Great Hall, seated away from other students at the Gryffindor table. Rather than a shroud of showmanship, James wore a subdued demeanor.

“Y’think everything went alright?” Peter asked under his breath, tentatively, still worried he may have upset Sirius, and now James might be upset on top of it all.

Remus and Sirius shared a quizzical glance, having seen as they had Lily and James rather pleased and content at the Three Broomsticks earlier in the afternoon.

“I reckon so,” Sirius whispered back. He was still being curt with Peter, but more for his own amusement now, as he knew how that sort of behavior sent the younger Marauder into a frenzy of nerves.

“What’s up, Prongs?” Remus asked, situating himself next the raven-haired teen, while Sirius and Peter sat across.

“A rousing success, was it?” Sirius chimed in.

James didn’t answer for a moment, opting instead to spend the silent seconds staring ahead dramatically, as if overwhelmed with emotion.

“It was,” he answered slowly, “absolutely… _sublime_.”

Remus chuckled silently, relieved.

“In the whole of history, never has there existed a creature more fair or made of finer fiber,” James continued reverently.  
“Here we go…,” Sirius muttered, smirking.

“You don’t understand, Pads,” James continued earnestly. “I knew she was brilliant and beautiful before… but now… the depth of her exquisite essence begins to breach my very soul. I have tasted the nectar of absolute passion, and let me tell you, it is sweet. She’s … completely enchanting.”

“Hold on a second,” Sirius interjected. Above mocking eyes, his brows drew together with incredulity. “Did she let you… did you and Lily snog? Is that what’s got you acting all sodding idiotic like this?”

James’ mouth dropped, as if offended by Sirius’ jibe, but one corner twerked upward, betraying pleasure. Confusion pricked at Remus, and he found it difficult to believe this news could be true.

“Padfoot, a true gentleman does not kiss and tell –”

“– Good thing no one’s ever mistook you for even a _counterfeit_ version of a gentleman –”

“Besides,” James spoke louder to drown out Sirius’ voice, “our deep, meaningful connection transcends the physical world. Something I’m sure _you_ wouldn’t understand, being obsessed entirely _with_ the physical world. Before time, our souls were destined to find one another, to share a bond –”

“Lily let you kiss her?” Remus asked, his disbelief getting the better of him. His skepticism turned into worry about how Lily might be feeling. Had she been subjected to his friend's physical advances, possibly conducted with more assertiveness out of desperation and months of unrequited longing? “I thought we talked about you not being pushy with all that. Was she upset?”

Momentarily irritated – perhaps because little enjoyment exists in having the opportunity to divulge one kissed their crush when pity seems the default explanation for such an event transpiring – James turned a scowl toward Remus.

“’Let me’?” He puffed his chest out haughtily. “More like, forced herself on me in a fit of passion that she couldn’t control!”

“Prongs, c’mon…”

James’ boastfulness ebbed slightly. He rolled his eyes as he conceded, “Alright, fine. She didn’t force herself on me. But she _did_ make the first move. I swear, Moony. I wasn’t planning to do anything. But it was nearing the end of the day, we had spent hours together, having a blinding time. We just made it back to school, and a light snow was falling. I said farewell, all prepared to merely shake her hand. But she said, ‘not much of a goodbye, Potter. I expected more from someone as notably daring and brave like you –’,” catching more looks of disbelief, this time expressed by all three listeners, James sighed before continuing, “… or _something_ like that. Anyway, she didn’t move and was staring at me. And her eyes were so lovely and her mouth just … sitting there… red, and wet.” He stopped for a second, his own mouth hanging slightly open at the memory, and Remus could only guess what was happening within his friend’s trousers under the table. Shaking himself out of his trance, James finished emphatically, “She wanted me to, I tell you! And she responded more than eagerly. Bunch of wankers. I thought you’d be happy for me. Some friends you are.”

Sirius had the decency to look slightly ashamed as he said hurriedly, “Aw, c’mon, Prongs. We’re happy for you! Swear it. I think we all just thought, when it finally happened, you’d be flying around the castle with excitement or running wild like a stag, knocking over all the Slytherins. What we’re really nervous about is this mature reaction of yours.”

Also feeling guilty for responding with concerned disbelief rather than the conventional congratulations, hails to successful seduction and even lewd inquiries, Remus put aside his worries and gave James a hearty jab with his elbow.

“Well done, Prongs. Sounds like a hell of an afternoon. Any word on a repeat occurrence or future engagements? Should we be expecting a wedding invitation soon?”

James always was quick to be cheered up, and also to dismiss minor offenses. “Not yet… but I’ve got plans in the work. She mentioned she’s fairly busy with classes and other activities this term, and doesn’t want to get distracted by anything serious until she’s done with school.” He smiled confidently, combing through his wind-disheveled hair with his fingers. “Looks like I may have my work cut out for me to convince her otherwise.”

Having received the attention he anticipated from his friends, he dove into a more intricate, detailed version of his supposed conquest.

Yet as chuffed as Remus was for James, he was equally anxious to hear Lily’s recounting of the afternoon. When they mutually sought one another out that evening in the common room, however, under the pretense of working on a joint Potions project, Lily was all ears. As soon as they were certain not to be overheard, she looked at Remus with an eager, inquisitive, breathless gaze, under which he couldn’t help being infected with excitement.

“Well?”

“I did it. Just like I promised.”

“And?”

“And…,” the bright, colorful emotions caused by each exquisite occurrence that had transpired during the day caught up with Remus in a composite wave of vivid delight that he couldn’t curb or suppress. He burst into a grin – a goofy one, he was sure. “And, he feels the same way.”

Lily gave a little jump of delight in her seat and loudly clasped her hands together. “I knew it! I knew it would all work out! Oh, Remus. That’s fantastic. Tell me everything.”

Because he was unequivocally happy, and because he knew this to be his single opportunity to share the feeling with a friend, Remus easily obliged, though he glossed over the more raunchy parts of the story. As he put these not-so-distant memories into actual words, carefully choosing each one for its ability to most accurately relate the truth of his emotions and experience, they seemed to only gain more authenticity.

 _It was real_ , he acknowledged, finishing his story and watching Lily sigh with satisfaction. _It really happened. And Sirius is really mine, at least in some way. Some wonderful way._  

“And now, Lily Evans,” Remus crossed his fingers and fixed the red-head with a steady gaze. “Let’s talk about your afternoon. And the rumors milling around the Marauders camp that a certain someone seems to have had a jolly time with Prongs. And that a certain someone may have even encouraged said Marauder to give her a kiss. How does a certain someone respond?”

Lily’s face washed with a blush that made it blur with her hair.

“Well,” she started, defensively, “he didn’t so much as hold my hand or touch my shoulder or anything, all afternoon! It confused me! I expected _something_ at least. What with how many advances he’s made in the past and how many times he’s paid me compliments. It seemed strange he wouldn’t try. And, I mean, everyone knows Potter is, at the very least, nice to look at.”

“Oh? Everyone knows that, do they?” Remus interrupted, staring pointedly at Lily, and perhaps enjoying the rare opportunity to tease her a little too much.

Her blush deepened and the next words spilled out quickly, as she rushed to justify herself. “I mean, _objectively_ speaking, he is rather … good-looking. You have to admit that. Objectively speaking, at least. And besides, he’s grown up a lot during the past few years,” she crossed her arms, at last standing by her actions. “Anyway, I spent the whole afternoon, expecting him to try kissing me at some point, and he kept not doing it. And by the end, I was simply irritated that he didn’t at least _try._ … It all happened so fast. I don’t know what exactly did happen.”

“But you liked it?” Remus prodded, earnestly hoping she had no regrets that would pierce him with guilt for helping orchestrate their liaison in the first place.

A smile wiggled along her lips, fighting her mental constraint. It was answer enough for Remus, even when she successfully quashed the grin, lifted a shoulder and answered nonchalantly, “It wasn’t bad.” The truth, Remus tentatively accepted at last, was that Lily and James had snogged. And Lily wasn’t sorry. Remus and Sirius had done that and more. And wanted so much more. And now, certainly, nothing would be the same.


	8. Raising Suspicions

“Happy birthday, Moony.”

For a second, with inhibitions subdued by the trailing cobwebs of sleep, Remus had the impulse to pull the speaker into his bed and encase the body with his limbs. Fortunately, before he could act on the desire, a tiny reminder brushed away the fine, viscous tendrils of drowsiness, enough to effectively relay its important message:  James and Peter shared this room.

Massaging his eyes to open them, Remus answered with half a smile, “Morning, Padfoot.”

Slowly, Sirius’ face came into focus. _If this is the sight that would greet me every morning, I should never mind waking up_ , Remus mused, letting his smile stretch into its complete form.

Sirius extended his hand, reaching for Remus’ shoulder, but lingering by his cheek long enough to brush it with his thumb. Eyes locked, Sirius returned Remus’ smile. But as soon as the black-haired teen’s hand made contact with its intended target, the tenderness dissipated and he assumed the air of platonic playfulness he and Remus had consistently donned over the past six weeks. How Remus wished, though, that he could grasp the delicate drop of affection, clasp it in his hand and savor the creamy warmth for just a little while. These stolen seconds when friends were nearby left a distinct dissatisfaction that would loiter obnoxiously until the two boys found space – scarce as it was – to exist alone.

“Get up, sleepyhead,” Sirius commanded, jerking on Remus’ arm. “We have plans for you.”

Limbs stiff and cock annoyingly hard – thanks to the delectable eyeful of Sirius’ bare chest and sinewy waist he’d just been dished – Remus stretched his arms, inconspicuously rearranged his boxers and climbed out of bed.

“Plans?” He asked with a yawn. Finished, he eyed them suspiciously and clarified, “What plans?”

“We’re all sick today,” James offered, appearing behind Sirius’ shoulder.

“Are we?”

“Well, we will be very soon. We’re not wasting a perfectly good Friday – and your birthday – in class. Here.”

In James’ hand rested four garishly green pieces of taffy. Remus groaned with a chuckle. A few weeks ago, James had offhandedly pitched the idea of creating something edible that, once eaten, would render the consumer expeditiously unwell. Remus perused the candy with skepticism. Included in the concept was for the sickness to persist only an hour or so – just long enough to quickly visit Madam Florence in the Hospital Wing and be prescribed a day spent in bed.

“Did _you_ make these?” Remus asked James, who was notoriously inconsistent when it came to Potions. At times, his results were masterful; other times, disastrous. Somehow, that fact seemed currently foreboding.

Sensing Remus’ uncertainty, James grew a little agitated. “’Course I did. And they’ll work, I swear. The fever and vomiting should only last 30 minutes – an hour tops.”

“Did you at least help, Padfoot?” Remus asked. Sirius wasn’t _quite_ the unpredictably recipe-mangling bungler James could be.

“Don’t be such a git, Moony.” James’ eyes flashed with annoyance. “I’ve gotten loads better! Better than Padfoot, in any case. Anyway,” he continued impatiently, insolently ignoring the look of indignation Sirius whipped toward him, “Do you want to try or not, you ungrateful wanker?”

“Alright, alright,” Remus chuckled. “I’ll give it a go. But I swear to god, Prongs, if I spend my entire birthday off-color – ”

“– Then you’ll be too gammy to do anything about it,” Prongs finished happily, thrusting his taffy-laden hand forward. “You first. Since it’s your birthday.”

Remus rolled his eyes but accepted one of the taffies. After giving it a final go-over, he popped the sickness-inducing treat in his mouth, nearly gagged on the poorly concealed flavor of frog oil and then asked between chews, “When is this supposed to start working?”

 “We estimated an hour or two,” Sirius answered. “Prongs couldn’t quite work out how to make the illness happen instantaneously. That’s why we figured we’d have them before breakfast…,” he glanced at the clock perched on Remus’ nightstand and then, replicating Madam Florence’s sympathetic fussing, announced, “Expect to feel the dreaded lurgy descend ‘round 9 o’clock!”

Right on schedule, the boys had just settled into their Arithmancy class and started taking notes from Professor McCormack’s lesson when they became inflicted by shivers, pallid faces and sweaty foreheads. At least, three of them did. For Remus’ part, he felt nothing. Not the slightest change of temperature nor the faintest presence of nausea. Within moments, Peter, Sirius and James had become clammy, groping their stomachs and leaning on their desks. Still nothing.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sirius whispered from behind him, punctuating the question with a grunt of discomfort.

“Nothing,” Remus responded under his breath, worry starting to spread, “that’s the problem.”

When Peter at last disposed of his breakfast in a splatter on the tiled floor, causing a few students seated around him to shriek, Professor McCormack noticed the clamor and started back toward them.

“What’s going on here?” She asked briskly. Noticing Pete’s ashen face and the mess beneath him, she added more kindly, “Ah, m’dear boy. Are ya’ not feelin’ so well?”

“Glrrr,” Peter moaned, wiping his mouth and looking regretful – whether he felt sorry for vomiting on the classroom floor or for agreeing to take the offending taffy in the first place was unclear.

“I’m feeling quite dreadful,” James piped up, sounding like a martyr and laying a hand across his feverish forehead. “Perhaps it was something we ate for breakfast. I swear those poached eggs tasted a bit rancid.”

Sirius nodded, leaning back in his chair, gripping his waist with both arms and groaning quietly, his face twisted in pain.

Remus wondered if he could conjure a mock display of distress as convincing as his mates’ very realistic examples. Meanwhile, Professor McCormack took in the sight of the three ailing students, looking uncertain. “Oh, dear… Hmmm… Perhaps ya’ lot oughtta’ go see Madam Florence, and get yourselves some medicine…”

Not satisfied with her indeterminate comment, Sirius made a great show of heaving and covered his mouth with a hand.

“Yes, yes, get on with ya’!” Professor McCormack said nervously, pulling at her robe so the hem was removed from the proximity of Sirius’ desk.

“Rem, how about you? How – how are you doing?” James asked weakly. Professor McCormack’s efforts to skirt behind the pack of boys, abandoning the probable path of any projectile vomiting, gave James the chance to give Remus a look that asked what he could not audibly verbalize.

“Ummm,” Remus tried communicating, also through the mere use of his eyes, that this hastily constructed plan was going swimmingly except for the teensy tiny fact he wasn’t feeling a bit ill, and wasn’t as practiced in drama as the rest of them. Professor McCormack plopped a cool hand on his forehead and eyed him carefully.

“Hmmm… Ya’ lookin’ well enough. Don’t seem to have a fever or anythin’,” she said sweetly. Drawing back, she looked at the other three, “As for the rest of ya’, better be gettin’ on to the Hospital Wing.”

Sirius and James hesitated briefly, sharing an inconspicuous glance of helpless concern behind Professor McCormack’s departing back, and then grabbed Peter’s arm and stumbled out of the classroom.

Across the room, Lily shook her head, appearing thoroughly unconvinced that three of four Marauders falling ill within the span of five minutes was a coincidence. She fixed her probing smaragdine gaze on Remus, who suddenly found himself pressed to busily copy down the last of McCormack’s notes.

Over lunch, he scarfed down his food, allowing time for a detour upstairs to check on his mates before afternoon classes commenced. Both trouser pockets were full of chocolate macarons wrapped in dinner napkins, which made galloping through the long hallways a difficult task. It seemed bloody unfair the other three were getting to spend his birthday skiving off and having a jolly time together while he sat in class, the victim of James’ incompetence. Still, he wanted to make sure they had something tasty to eat, in case their lunch consisted only of the slop Florence passed off as “soup” in the Hospital Wing.

When Remus opened the door to his bedroom, however, he was surprised to find his friends not playing Exploding Snap accompanied with wild whooping and hollering, but instead languishing on their respective beds. The sight was so unexpected Remus couldn’t help chuckling a bit as he asked, “What the hell happened to you lot?”

Three heads turned toward the door at his noisy entrance.

“Prongs is a piss-poor candy maker,” Sirius stated grumpily, his normally pale skin now almost milky white for its lack of color.

“ ‘An hour tops,’ my arse,” Peter groaned, turning on his side and pulling his pillow in a dense cloud around his face.

With astonishing energy considering he still looked nauseated, James shot up, “I swear I put together a brilliant recipe! I went over it again and again to double check the measurements. One of the ingredients must have already turned or something.”

“Right,” Sirius cut in drily, “that’s exactly my point. What kind of purveyor of magical candies doesn’t check first to make sure all the ingredients are in proper order _before_ mixing them up and serving the result to his mates?”

“Well, excuse me!” James snapped back. “If you had helped when I asked instead of waiting to gripe about it now like a prat then – ”

“ – I told you I would as soon as I finished that bloody essay! You just got too impatient like you always do – ”

“ – trying to do something nice for our mate’s birthday, to make it _special_ , and you were _too_ busy –”

“ – and can’t wait for five sodding minutes – ”

“But what about me?” Remus cut in, the only effective way to settle one of Sirius and James’ bickering matches. “What happened there?”

Sure enough, both teenagers’ mouths snapped shut, and their eyes met, tossing back and forth a topic they didn’t want to address out loud.

 “What?” Remus repeated tartly, annoyed that after six years they still treated his feelings as though they were made of glass. Hadn’t he contradicted that assumption time and time again? “What is it?”

“We didn’t – ”

“ _You_ didn’t.”

“Sod off, Padfoot – _I_ didn’t… take into account,” James swallowed the end of the sentence. “Well, it didn’t occur to me… the whole werewolf thing.”

Remus let out a laugh, touched by the genuine concern exhibited by each of his peaked friends, but relieved it was not caused by something more serious. “Is that all? Oh, Prongs…”

“Sorry, Moony, it’s just… I forget sometimes…”

Sirius rushed to James’ aid. “We forget that you require medicine and potion and things to be extra-strength to have any effect on your … on you.”

“Well, I could have told you that!” Peter wailed in exasperation. “Of _course_ it wasn’t strong enough for Moony. Why would you think a magical remedy that works on a human would – ”

“Shut up, Wormtail!” Sirius and Prongs snapped in unison.

Remus’ hear swelled as he surveyed his fellow Marauders, nervous and embarrassed as they were. “God, I’m lucky to have you all,” he muttered.

James screwed up his face in disgust, though his cheeks were still tinged with a bashful pink. “Merlin, Moony, don’t get all mushy on us now. That’s why we’re reluctant to bring up the werewolf issue in the first place… makes you go barmy.”

“Right you are,” Remus laughed ruefully. “Alright then, moving on from the fact you lot were worried about ruffling my feathers by pointing out what I’ve known for the past dozen years…. How are you feeling?”

“Eh, not bad,” Sirius answered, pushing himself up on his bed. His maladies were superficial, even ridiculous, yet Remus still had to extinguish the urge to rush toward him and offer support. “We should be all straight before your party tonight, though.”

“My…,” Remus let the question taper off into a groan.

“You certainly didn’t think we’d let your 17th birthday – the day our sweet young Moony comes of age – pass by without a raging bender, did you?”

“Believe it or not, Remus, but you’re actually quite popular. The whole of Gryffindor is excited to partake in the celebration,” James added.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Don’t worry, grandpa,” Sirius winked at him, “We’ll only keep you up an hour or two past your bedtime.”

It was a pleasant gesture, his mate’s planning a party for him. So much so Remus decided he would forget his introverted tendencies for the night and commit to reveling in the rare opportunity to commandeer the center of attention.

“Let’s do presents now, though,” Sirius exclaimed, hobbling out of bed and over to his trunk. “You’ll be too inebriated later – we’re seeing to that.”

“You didn’t have to get me presents,” Remus blushed, dropping to the floor beside his bed so he could lean against it. He pulled the macarons, only a bit squashed, from his pockets and started divvying them up.

James scoffed good-naturedly, “You say that every year. And every year, you’re excited to open presents. Now,” he popped one of the chocolate treats into his mouth, “just enjoy the festivities like we know you want to.”

“Here,” Sirius thrust toward Remus a package, wrapped in vanilla-colored parchment paper and tied with dark teal twine. “Open mine first.”

Remus reached for the gift, enjoying the soft glide of his hand against Sirius’ in the process. “If you insist, Padfoot.”

Remus felt giddy opening the present. He had always loved birthdays – both his and others’ – but until now, there had been no opportunity to share one with a significant other. Even though the sharing was currently assigned a clandestine disposition, it added to the atmosphere of excitement. Remus happily tore off the wrapping. When he saw what lay inside the box among crinkly packaging, he laughed out loud.

Sirius grinned, obviously pleased with Remus’ reaction. “Just so you don’t forget, Moony.”

The previous week, Remus and Sirius had experienced their first fight as a couple. Although, it was less of a true fight and more Remus taking offense when Sirius, irritated by Remus’ lack of appropriate attention during Gryffindor’s Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, had called him “too bloody serious” and an “insufferable stick in the mud.”

Remus was accustomed to his mates frequently teasing his need for organization and his quiet, contemplative nature. But this time it was different. Sirius had shown no indication he was joking and then departed immediately, leaving Remus to stew about the matter in solitude.

When Sirius finally returned much later, his comportment was cool and smug – the sort that drove Remus insane in a way that was, confusingly, both irritating and erotic. Snapping, Remus had harshly retorted, delayed as it was, that Sirius was acting like “a sodding child, who wouldn’t know maturity if it swallowed him whole.” Their bickering continued for several minutes until they somehow wound up on the bedroom floor, rolling around and snogging passionately. Once finished, the pair had admitted, shame-faced but light-hearted, that it was an entirely stupid argument and they wouldn’t change any part of the other.

And here, as Sirius wanted, was the perfect reminder: Inside the box rested a pair of metal plyers, labeled, “Misty’s Magical Plyers: Pry, Pull and Remove! For all your hard-to-budge problems.” Alongside the tool was a small note written in Sirius’ scratchy hand, _Don’t ever get too stuck, Moony – on anything except me, of course_.

Remus glanced up, his eyes capturing Sirius’ lips and his mind completing the movement he wished very much he could actually take.

“What is it?” James questioned, taking the instrument from Remus’ hand and turning it over, as if he expected the motion to provide an explanation.  

“Ah, er, just a joke, y’know?” Sirius answered, a pace too slow. “Because, Remus tends to get stuck in his ways, and is always trying to follow the bloody rules like a priggish stickler.”

“Oh, right,” James chuckled appreciatively, joined by Peter’s more boisterous guffaws. However, Remus noticed, beneath James’ laughter, his eyes maintained the faintest glimmer of curiosity, or something darker, like suspicion. It was a strangely uncomfortable yet distantly familiar sensation to worry about James catching onto a secret.

For James’ benefit, as well as Peter’s, Remus tried to cover up the situation by huffing sarcastically, “Thanks, Padfoot. Thanks a lot. Some present…”

“Don’t worry. James’ gift will make up for it.” Following a quick wink, Sirius turned toward James and added eagerly, “C’mon, James. Show him what we made.”

James' smile rapidly turned genuine, his ruffled feelings smoothed out at once again being the mate closest in sync with Sirius. He stood to fetch the present from beneath his bed. What at first glance appeared to be a small, harmless ball turned out to be a delightful device that picked up noises, glowing brighter and vibrating as they amplified. It was a nifty gadget for detecting if other people or creatures were approaching – perfect for late night excursions around the castle.

As promised, the party that initiated in the Gryffindor common room that night turned almost instantaneously rowdy. Crowded into the space was most of the House, as well as a few outliers from fellow Houses that had managed to sneak in.

Almost everyone was nursing a bottle of Butterbeer, while the more adventurous and foolhardy took turns sipping harder unidentified liquors from communal tureens.

Remus suffered momentary embarrassment when everyone joined together in singing a raucous, off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” After being personally told “many happy returns” and “happy 17th” in a tipsy slur by countless well-wishers, Remus drew back to a couch on the far side of the room, where he could take in the merriment as a removed observer. He felt he had adequately reveled enough to satisfy his friends.

His solitude did not last long, however, when a slightly slushed Elizabeth flopped onto the couch beside him, causing Remus to start. Flipping away her satin curtain of hair, she turned toward him with a pained expression.

“Remus,” she huffed. “I need your help – oh, happy birthday, by the way.”

Remus’ body tensed involuntarily, hardened by chilling particles of lingering jealousy. Still, he managed to give her a weak smile, “Thanks.”

“As I was saying,” she continued, her mouth softening to a pout, “you must help me. I don’t know what to do. I thought things were going well with Sirius. But now… I’m so vexed!”

Eyes widening and jaw clenching, Remus willed himself not to inflict a look of withering reproach on the unsuspecting girl beside him. The seconds of inaction seemed only to indicate he was listening intently, though, for Elizabeth continued to spill out her woes in exasperated bits of sentences.

“After the Yule Ball – he acted so… and then for a few weeks after. But now,” she gazed at Remus with pleading eyes, and he had no difficulty surmising this was her well-practiced strategy for cajoling pity. “Maybe he’s just playing hard to get – that’s what he does, right? Everyone knows that. Anyway … Say something to him, won’t you?”

Remus’ grip on the reins to his emotions slackened, as he finally scoffed, “You want _me_ to help you with Sirius?”

“Well,” her pout solidified, “of course! You’re his friend. You know him better than most. I’m sure you can talk some sense into him.”

Remus contemplated how to respond to this, but it was superfluous when seconds later, Elizabeth insistently coaxed him, “At least, tell me what he’s told you about our relationship. I need some inside information.”

 _Relationship_? Was that Sirius’ word or hers?

“I’ve tried a few times during the past couple weeks, but he seems so distant. He’ll barely acknowledge me! And after the lovely times we had together. He seemed more than happy when we were –“

“Nothing,” Remus brusquely interjected before she could complete the sentence with an ending that was both unnecessary and loathsome. “He’s said nothing to me.”

“Nothing?” she all but shrieked. “What – how – what does that mean?”

“ _It means_ ,” Remus wanted to say, “ _that Sirius does not find your ‘relationship’ significant enough to even mention it to his best mates. Perhaps you’d be wise to take that as a hint.._.”

Instead, he shrugged. “I can’t speak for Sirius, but – ”

“Oohh,” she gritted her teeth, face knotted with hurt and outrage, “the nerve of him! What is wrong with that boy?”

Remus was surprised by the ferocity of her reaction, but reminded himself it was being composed with who-knew-what quantities of alcohol mixed in. People did unusual things under those circumstances.

“Elizabeth,” his voice softened, “I don’t mean to… let you down… but it’s possible – knowing Sirius, and all – that what happened between you two…. Well, it might not have meant as much to him. You know?”

As the words tripped out of his mouth, Remus was overcome with guilt and reservations. Was he cruelly misleading a rival for his own gain, or gently confiding in a peer a truth she deserved to know? It was, he figured, all a matter of intention. And sincerity. For what he told her, he acknowledged with unexpected uneasiness, was unquestionably true. Sirius did do that – become enchanted with ideas, with flings, with new challenges, even regarding people. _Am I… just another exciting and different concept that he’ll grow bored with before too long?_

So lost was Remus in his own worried reverie that it took several seconds of dazed confusion for him to realize he had become the object of Elizabeth’s icy, disdainful stare.

“Oh, really? Is that what you think?” she asked, one thin eyebrow arched. “Well then, I’ll have you know, Remus, no one is _that_ good at pretending.”

“What does that mean?” Remus could feel his temper rising, even as he wished this insipid conversation would just drift away.

“Only that –” Suddenly, her frigid expression turned saccharine and cheerful as she caught sight of something behind Remus’ shoulder, “Sirius, hello!”

Remus glanced over his shoulder and his heart began fluttering erratically. He wondered at the concept that, even after nearly six years of knowing Sirius, and one month of knowing him better, his mere presence initiated Remus’ momentary downfall into currents of affection that buzzed with energy.

“Hello,” Sirius answered slowly and suspiciously, his gaze shifting from Remus to Elizabeth and back. “What are you two on about?”

The needling doubt that had seized Remus moments before returned with force, and he suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable… and also somewhat misplaced, centered between Elizabeth and Sirius.

“Just talking,” Remus mumbled.

“Have a seat, Sirius,” Elizabeth grinned, scooting away from Remus to make room between them.

For an instant, a look flashed across Sirius’ face – one Remus easily interpreted to mean no part of Sirius wanted to take the offered seat between his past lover and current… whatever Remus was. But, true to form, he brushed away the uneasiness without pause, and casually lowered himself on the couch.

While Sirius was capable of smoothly disposing of awkwardness, Remus only seemed capable of brewing in it. It swirled around him, prickly and uncomfortable, intensifying when Elizabeth engaged Sirius in what she intended to be a strictly two-way conversation. Wanting to escape the unnerving heat, Remus excused himself to “get another drink,” an interruption Elizabeth all but ignored.

He made his way to the table laid out with libations, seeking solace from his burning self-doubt with a dose of cold butterbeer. The sweet drink worked its magic, and as long as Remus stayed buried in mindless chit-chat with Peter and others who frequented the snack table, and kept Sirius out of his sight, he found his anxiety manageable.

At least for a time, until...

“Remus.”

Sirius’ voice startled him from a haze of troubled thoughts and frivolous gossip.

“What was that all about?” Sirius asked, gripping Remus’ arm and pulling him close.

“What are you referring to?” Remus responded, trying to ignore how the close proximity to Sirius elicited searing passion that made him want to do nothing more than press his particularly picturesque mate against the wall and slip a hand into his pants.

“Leaving me alone with Elizabeth like that!” Sirius explained. Though he sounded irritated, his eyes sparkled, and he stepped even closer to Remus. “I thought I wouldn’t ever be able to escape her talons. Once she has a hold on you, she digs in and won’t let go, y’know.”

“You seemed to be holding your own just fine,” Remus shrugged, despising how vulnerability caused him to draw into himself, burrowing beneath a cold exterior.

“Moony, c’mon,” Sirius continued playfully, either missing or overlooking Remus’ protective indifference, “I was miserable. I wanted to spend time with you, and you deserted me, tosser! I was left alone to suffer the repelling machinations of a cantankerous crow.”

“You clearly didn’t find her so ‘repelling’ when you were sleeping with her.”

The clipped words, born from a sense of insecurity, were out before Remus could convince himself how petty and childish they were. He wished he had tried harder, though, when Sirius simply stared at him, nonplussed.

Embarrassed, Remus began turning away but was stopped by a yank on the front of his shirt, an action that jerked him back to face the sharp, incredulous grey of Sirius’ gaze.

“Come with me,” he commanded under his breath.

His grip was no longer on Remus, but it might as well have been, for not following Sirius never even registered as an option.

As they passed James, who shot them a curious look, Sirius announced in a tone of ostensible cheerfulness, “Food’s running low. We’re going down to the kitchen to plunder.”

James laughed, “Right you are. Better hurry before there’s a mutiny.”

“We’ll be back in a moment!” Sirius called behind his shoulder, shoving Remus through the door and into the lamp-lit hall.

At the bottom of the stairs, Sirius finally stopped and spun around.

“What the hell was that about?” he demanded gently. “Moony?”

“I dunno,” Remus sighed, shame creeping into his blood and warming his skin. Although he was held in place by Sirius’ hand on his shoulder, it didn’t prevent him from dropping his eyes to needlessly study the shadowy floor. “It’s true, though. You can’t deny it, Sirius.”

“Deny...?”  
“Your sleeping with her… fucking her… your relationship with her… ,” Remus’ grasp on the English language was turning curiously lax as his embarrassment grew.

“It was months ago, Moony,” Sirius declared, his brows furrowing in bewilderment. “I’ve barely spoken to her since Christmas. And we only … screwed around a couple times. It wasn’t a _relationship_. …”

Remus shrugged, continuing to stare at the floor. It was nice to focus on something stable while his thoughts zoomed in and out of focus. Somewhere inside his head, a nagging voice told him it was unfair to unleash his panic on Sirius in this way. He considered heeding it, but as he opened his mouth to respond, what came out coolly and calmly was, “It doesn’t matter. I mean, what girl in this school haven’t you shagged?”

Sirius sucked in his breath and snatched his hand away, as if bitten. The reaction compelled Remus to glance up. Regret shot through him when he discovered in Sirius’ expression not anger but undeniable pain.

“I…,” the raven-haired boy gasped, “I can’t believe you would throw that in my face. Where is this coming from? I haven’t seen or been with anyone else for months. Regardless,” his voice rose as his speech picked up pace, “why the hell do I have to justify myself to you? You’re supposed to understand. You, of all people, should _understand_. … And I didn’t do anything wrong!”

There it was, the anger. Remus knew Sirius well enough to expect that precise emotion to trail behind a sense of betrayal. In a way, it was welcome. For Remus had his own grievances and fears to express, and if Sirius crumpled under confrontation rather than rising to meet it, Remus would feel inclined to soothe his sadness. Instead, Sirius’ self-confidence allowed him to blurt out, “I’m scared, Padfoot. I’m bloody scared.”

“What? Why, Moony?”

“Because… because, I don’t want to be her. I don’t want to be… them…. But why should I be any different?”

It was a testament to their closeness, to how they had shared every twist and turn throughout their Hogwarts experience, that Sirius had no trouble understanding what Remus was saying and, on a deeper level, what he meant.

Sirius’ frustration seemed to leak from him, like stale air from a week-old balloon. He deflated, his shoulders relaxing, his mouth releasing a short huff saturated with incredulity.

“I know,” Remus hurried to say, instantly suffering humiliation at revealing his insecurity. “I know it’s not fair, Padfoot, to bring up shit like that. I know you didn’t do anything wrong. Of course you didn’t… and … really, I don’t care. This isn’t about Elizabeth, and it isn’t about what’s happened before… us… I just –“

“Moony,” Sirius cupped Remus’ chin, his thumb pressing against his boyfriend’s lips and aborting his rambling, “Please. Forget it. Forget them. And believe me when I say I have. Completely. I am with _you_. I want _you_. I mean that. Damn but I mean that.”

Remus couldn’t tell if he enjoyed his feelings being coddled. Normally, he despised it. But something about the way Sirius offered assurance so sincerely – and also couched in a subtle tone of “stop being a stupid git” – made it easier to swallow for Remus, and offered much more satisfying nourishment. He said nothing, but allowed himself half a smile.

“Do you believe me?” Sirius asked, wrapping his hands on either side of Remus’ face. The werewolf nodded.

“Are you going stop being a ridiculous fool now?” The patented Black smirk made a reappearance.

All remaining remnants of Remus’ reservation escaped with a chuckle. He nodded again and gently placed his hand on top of Sirius’, savoring the pressure of his lover’s palm on his jaw and neck.

“Good,” Sirius smiled smugly, though relief was palpable in his voice, “now that we’ve gotten that tedious business out of the way – Merlin, who would’ve guessed you required so much emotional maintenance, Moony?” he winked, “I need to give you the rest of your birthday present. I’m glad we’re on good terms again, because I’ve been thinking about it all day. Well, longer, actually. And I know you’re going to _love_ it.”

Just like that, Remus could fill his cock fill with blood and tingle in anticipation. Perhaps it was presumptuous to read subtext into Sirius’ words, but the heat and lust that darkened those silver eyes was unmistakable.

“Oh, is that right?” Remus challenged boldly, his own confidence returning in force. “What makes you think that?”

“Because,” Sirius clasped the hand Remus had laid on his and led him further into the dark corner formed at the base of the stairs, “I know you. I know what you like… and what you want… _who_ you want.”

Remus’ back met the wall with a thud, and he let out a shaky breath. Sirius’ eyes were locked on his, heavy with sly insinuation and limpid desire, and Remus’ heart raced, “God, you’re gorgeous.”

The final syllable was swallowed by Sirius’ mouth crashing into Remus’ for a heated, frenzied kiss. Four hands instantly started digging beneath shirts, seeking the unmatched pleasure of groping bare flesh.

Sirius pulled back, only giving his mouth time to murmur, “Moony,” before it connected with Remus’ upstretched neck. Remus didn’t know what it was about the way Sirius moved that seemed to shove him over an emotional and physical edge. Every time they kissed was like an exercise in learning how to breathe and think and maneuver while falling into a wondrous, crushing abyss.

He rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes and simply soaking in a kaleidoscope of sensations. The sensation of Sirius’ warm lips and tongue on his neck, of silky curls sifting through one hand and of Sirius' taut ass clasped in the other.

He fumbled his way over Sirius’ slender hips and the flat plane of his abdomen, his fingers searching for the rim of Sirius’ pants. He wanted them down, off, away. He wanted more skin. Desperately.

Sirius pulled back, and Remus groaned in frustration.

“No, Moony,” Sirius said firmly, taking Remus’ arms and pushing them flush against the wall behind him, “hands off. It’s _your_ birthday.”

“And for my birthday,” Remus growled, his body trembling with exasperation and pent up erotic energy, “I would like to feel your glorious, hard cock in my hand, if I may.”

Sirius let out a breathy chuckle, but quickly resumed his commanding posture, “Not yet. Later. I am about to undo you, and you will stand there and take it.”

“God, Padfoot,” Remus choked out, “you can’t say things like that. I … damn, I’m already undone.”

“You have no idea,” Sirius breathed, claiming Remus’ mouth once more while he quickly undid the clasp on the other boy’s trousers.     

For several more seconds, the wizard worked his magic on the werewolf’s mouth while his hands slowly closed in on the throbbing, engorged male flesh had just been unleashed to jut out proudly, crowned with pre-cum. 

As commanded, Remus kept his arms at his side, his hands pressed flat against the textured wallpaper covering the structure that was now indispensable if he wanted to stay upright with Sirius’ hands and lips slithering all over him. The next thing he knew, a shaggy black head was dipping lower and lower, moving toward an obvious target.

Was he - ?

But he couldn’t be –

But he was.

In a flash, Remus’ thick cock was buried fully in Sirius’ mouth and all intelligible thought had fled from his mind. Nothing … _nothing_ … compared to the sensation of Sirius slowly, methodically dragging his tongue, slick and warm with saliva, from hilt to head repeatedly. He continued licking, then sucking deeply and leisurely, and then circling his wet tongue on the sensitive tip of Remus’ flushed dick. Up, down, around – Sirius’ meticulous movements left no part of the hard member unattended. Remus felt like he was submerged.

“Oh, god,” he moaned, wondering only briefly how on earth his boyfriend was such a masterful blow-job artist. He bucked his hips forward, fiercely shoving his cock deeper into the blistering, tight cavern of Sirius’ mouth. “Sirius…”

The other teen hummed softly in response, cupping Remus’ balls and massaging the tender skin. In contrast, he took a firm handful of Remus’ ass, digging his fingernails into well-formed muscle. With this number of his erogenous zones being engaged by the devilish angel he called his own, it took every last bit of willpower for Remus to remain in place and not crumble to the ground.

“Moony,” Sirius whispered against the cock between his lips, his breath engulfing Remus’ groin and furthering the feverish pulsing in the area, “ _this_ is what I want.”

Faster than a spool of thread tumbling downstairs, Remus could feel himself unraveling. He continued rutting against and into Sirius’ mouth, wishing he could hold out so he could forever stay immersed in the pleasures delivered by his boyfriend’s tongue. It was straightforward, uncomplicated divinity – rare and so precious to Remus.

“Padfoot,” he shuddered, his chest tightening, his breath shortening, “I’m going to… I can’t….”

“Come, Moony,” Sirius commanded, raking his fingers up the back of Remus’ leg and between the two mounds of his backside, brushing the taboo entrance nestled inside, and unleashing unexpected hysteria when Remus pictured himself being rammed from behind.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” Sirius continued, playing off Remus’ pants and groans and evilly stroking the tight entrance with his thumb, “I want it all. Let me taste you.”

A stifled cry escaped Remus, and for the first time, he moved his hands in disobedience to Sirius’ instructions. He needed to hold onto to something, to stabilize himself even as he tumbled into orgasm. He tangled his fingers into Sirius’ loose black tendrils, clenching, as the latter went down on his cock once more, now fast and wild. His snug lips seemed pulled at Remus’ length, and the werewolf could barely exhale sharply, calling out beneath his breath, “Fuck, Sirius, don’t… stop….please…,” before release washed over him in turbulent waves.

Sirius moaned and swallowed the projected load, but kept Remus’ cock in his mouth, drawing out a euphoria that manifested in flashes of color behind Remus’ securely closed eyes. It was overwhelming, and he let go – of his legs, of his hands, of his mind.

When he finally recollected his senses, enough to peel back his eyelids, he found himself sitting on the floor, legs outstretched and pants still undone. In front of him, Sirius was kneeling and wiping his mouth with obvious self-satisfaction.

“God, Padfoot,” Remus exhaled reverently, not even trying to hide the impression left by Sirius’ lascivious actions. “That was… _you_ are incredible.”

“I knew I would be,” Sirius drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Happy birthday, Moony.”

Remus smiled bashfully. “I really didn’t deserve that,” he said reproachfully, “not after acting like an idiot and treating you like that.”

“Oh, c’mon, Moony,” Sirius flicked his hand, brushing away the matter, “you’re my best mate, first and foremost. No matter how close we get … _romantically_ ,” he rolled his eyes, “we’re never going to stop picking at each other like we did before. We’ll always act a bit like idiots. That’s what friends do. Besides,” he grinned cockily, “I can’t get too soft, y’know. I’ve got to protect my reputation.”

Comforted and secured, Remus pulled himself up and brought Sirius’ lips to his, kissing him intensely. It was a jammy arrangement, getting to brush tongues with someone you could pick a fight with one minute and then both move on the next, Remus concluded.

Out loud, however, he simply murmured, “I adore you.”

Sirius sighed, his lips arched in contentment, “Me, too, Moony.”

Reluctantly, he rose to his feet and offered Remus his hand, “Now, we better get a move on. Merlin knows what time it is.”

“Wait a minute,” Remus stopped him, his insistence sounding almost petulant, “We can’t go yet, Pads. I want to… return the favor.”

“Mmmm,” Sirius groaned. He hesitated momentarily before sighing once more and shaking his head, disappointment evident in his eyes. “Ugh… we can’t. Believe me, Moony, I would love nothing more right this moment than to be balls deep in your mouth, or even – ” he cut himself off, biting his lip in embarrassment and making Remus want to chuckle. It was a rare and enjoyable sight to see Sirius bashful. “But we’ve been gone too long. We’ve probably already aroused suspicion, and we haven’t even got the food, yet.”

“Fine,” Remus capitulated unwillingly, thoughts of ‘or evens’ parading obnoxiously in his head. “We’ll have it your way tonight. But,” he once more stopped Sirius, who had started heading toward the kitchen, “you better be prepared, Sirius Black. Because one of these days, I’m going to have _my_ way, with you, and you won’t know what hit you.”

He punctuated the remark with a quick, sharp slap on Sirius’ ass, and then swiftly strode past the other teen, leaving him wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

Back in Gryffindor common room, the party had been sustained full blast. No person seemed to have missed Remus’ and Sirius’ absence. Except one.

“What took you so long?” James asked as soon as they entered the rowdy space, both laden with looted treats.

Already poor at hiding his emotions, under the influence of alcohol, James might as well have worn his suspicion like a cloak.

“We went to get food,” Remus offered lamely.

“You’ve been gone almost an hour,” James countered bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s a bloody long time to be gone.”

When no response came from either of the accused parties, James’ face hardened bitterly, his hazel eyes flashing with perplexity. “What is it? What is up with you two?”

His distrust felt like a slap on the face. Smarting, Remus considered the situation. _It would be much easier to just fill him in…_

“We ran into a little trouble with Filch on our way back,” Sirius’ words sputtered out rapidly. “The old codger was out roaming the halls, as usual. Almost caught us on the second floor. It’s hard running with an armful of pies.”

“That’s right,” Remus supplemented, his discomfort growing when James still looked skeptical.

“Hmmph,” the bespectacled teen finally shrugged. His eyes continued to bore into the pair, and Remus wondered if he looked as guilty as he felt. “Well, then it’s lucky you weren’t caught. I just thought maybe… whatever. It doesn’t matter. I hope you had fun.”

“Prongs,” Sirius started, but the words met James’ back as he turned away, chin held high. “Prongs!”

He and Remus shared a worried glance, before Sirius bolted after his best mate. Remus let him go, knowing James’ jealousy was more likely to be assuaged by them reaching out to him one at a time. After all, it was their suddenly heightened togetherness he envied. The previous six years, James was always closest to Sirius.

 _And Prongs is merely the start_ , Remus realized as he settled into his bed moments later, needing to be alone though the party in his honor persisted. _If Sirius and I want to enjoy our relationship thoroughly and publicly, eventually we're going to need to let people find out –schoolmates, professors, friends, parents._

Remus swallowed nervously. For some reason, he couldn’t imagine the proud, cruel Black matriarch taking kindly to the idea of her once-beloved son – disowned though he was – dating a mangy half-blood. There would be hell to pay.

Suddenly the image of Sirius’ smirking face popped into Remus’ mind, and his worry subsided immediately, tender affection assuming its place.

 _But he’s worth it_.


	9. Proliferating Darkness

“Alright, how does this sound?” James asked, talking around the Sugar Quill protruding from his mouth. He gave the piece of parchment he had spent the last hour marking a flourish and cleared his throat importantly. “My dearest, loveliest Lilykins – ”

“Lilykins?” Remus interrupted, his contorted expression poorly concealing disgust.

“Yeah, that is a _horrid_ nickname for her, Prongs,” Sirius opined bluntly. “You do know this is Lily Evans you’re writing, don’t you?”

James huffed but sulkily removed the offending word. “How about Lily pad?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Lily petal?”

“No.”

“Lily of my eye?”

“Prongs, stop.”

“The Lilster?”

“No! Absolutely not!” Remus and Sirius cried emphatically, while the latter snatched the letter from James’ hand before he could transcribe the repulsive term.

“Prongs,” Remus reasoned, “why on earth can you not just write ‘Lily’?”

“Because,” James answered haughtily, trying to grab at the paper Sirius was waving over his head, “it’s time we defined our relationship. We’ve been writing for several weeks now, and I think we’re at that point, if I’m reading the situation correctly. I thought I’d make the first move, yeah?”

“I’m confident calling her ‘The Lilster’ is _not_ going to define the relationship in the way you want,” Remus snickered. “How about… ‘Lils’? It denotes the familiarity and intimacy you wish to establish while maintaining the respectful distance I think Lily would expect during this ambiguous stage.”

“Yes, precisely… listen to professor over here,” Sirius nodded toward Remus, subtly passing him a mischievous smile. “He always seems to know best.”

Like James and Lily, their fledgling relationship had continued to evolve via letter-writing during the first month of summer holiday when miles of distance kept them physically apart. For Remus and Sirius, it was equally awkward and unnatural at first, gradually becoming easier and more enjoyable only when they discovered they could simply write as they talked in person, touching on all topics from the mundane to the meaningful. Remus knew, though, that unlike James, Sirius had not turned to his mate for help during the process, as he still desired to keep their relationship under wraps.   

“Fine,” James relented. Finally seizing the parchment, he continued to read, “Remus arrived here on Monday – see, nice little recognition there, eh, Moony? – and he will spend the rest of the holiday with Sirius and myself. Peter joins in a few days. However, nothing can soothe the ache of my lonely longing until I am back in your divine presence –“

“What the bloody hell?” Sirius interrupted again.

“You mean to tell me my ‘divine presence’ isn’t enough to satisfy the ‘ache of your lonely longing’?” Remus asked in a tone of feigned indignation. “I’m hurt, Prongs. Dreadfully hurt.”

“Are you wankers honestly going to keep interrupting every single line?” James questioned, exasperation bringing his balled fists to his hips. “Never mind, then! I don’t want your worthless ‘help’ anymore! I’m better off doing it without you lot.”

Sirius burst into laughter and Remus joined him, finding it difficult to conjure remorse for awakening James’ temper when his tantrums were immediately exaggerated in this way. Still, he managed to apologize as sincerely as possible through gasps for air, “I’m sorry, Prongs. It’s a lovely letter. Truly. Just a little on the sappy side.”

James, hot-headed as ever, shot back, “Well, _I’m_ the one Lily fancies! She must like me for some reason, right?  … Maybe she actually appreciates my sappiness and charming communication skills. Ever thought of that?”

Sirius considered James’ words for moment, sobering up a bit before responding thoughtfully, “Yes, that’s true, Prongs. Maybe she does.”

“Alright, then, will you sods shut the hell up and let me finish?” James asked, evidently pleased with himself and the idea Lily might truly appreciate the real James Potter, sans any attempts to mitigate his trademark fanfaronade, zeal and knack for melodrama.

Dutifully, Remus and Sirius kept their mouths shut as James completed the expressive reading of his sentiment-filled letter, although there were numerous escaped snorts and repressed chuckles that provoked looks of searing disapproval from the reader.

It was a great relief the mood between the Marauders had almost returned to normal, as tensions had reached a boiling point near the end of their sixth year. After James’ behavior at Remus’ party, he and Sirius tried even harder to be discreet, which unfortunately meant fewer late-night detours to empty passageways and hushed rendezvouses in each other’s beds.

Their efforts mollified James for the most part, though he simultaneously had grown suspicious of why Sirius didn’t keep any lady friends these days, a departure from the norm that both James and Peter found suspiciously alarming.

Finally, during their last week of school, Sirius confessed, by way of a fabricated story, that he actually _was_ seeing a girl, but he had to keep her identity anonymous, a tactic that horribly backfired when James became offended Sirius didn’t trust their friendship enough to share this secret.

Remus was growing a bit weary of the whole charade, but he pressed on, wanting to be considerate of Sirius’ feelings in the situation. Of course, Remus knew, James would have some reaction to discovering his two best mates were sucking each other’s cocks and sharing sweet moments of emotional intimacy every chance they got. And he also knew James’ feelings were paramount to Sirius, who viewed the Potter heir as a brother more than a friend. Yet, Remus couldn’t help wondering every now and then if he should feel slighted by Sirius’ adamant insistence they continue to the conceal their relationship.

He had just told himself to get over it for the umpteenth time, and rearranged his pillow to settle into sleep later that evening, when the sound of his door gently opening caused him to bolt upright. Instead of the shadow of a human figure filling the doorway, as Remus expected, he saw the shaggy shape of a large, lovable dog, creeping stealthily through the inky block of shadow consuming the room.

“Padfoot?” Remus whispered, his stifled laugh coming out breathy and giddy. “What are you doing?”

The obscured black shape bounded into his bed, nuzzled its head into Remus’ chest and then smoothly transformed into the lithe, sexy form of one Sirius Black.  

Sirius hungrily pressed his lips against’ Remus clavicle, sending a shiver through his shoulders. “I needed to see you, and I can get around quieter in my Animangus form. I’m surprised you didn’t know that, Moony.”

Everything Remus did and did not know seemed to exhaustively abandon his mind when he found himself on his back with Sirius’ body parallel, supported by the teen’s forearms. It had been too long – more than a month – since they were capable of taking this position. For most of the time, because Remus was in Surrey and Sirius in Rushcliffe, abstaining from physical contact was impossible and therefore bearable. When Remus had arrived at the Potters’ residence three days ago, however, it was a triumphant feat of willpower that kept him from pouncing on his beautiful boyfriend.

The resulting agony was then dragged out as for the following few days, they had been unable to secure a moment alone.

Tonight was different. Because of his horrible execution in a game of drinking Gleek, James had quickly fallen asleep – or rather nearly passed out – only an hour before, his airy snores promising a deep slumber that would linger late into the following morning. After glumly bidding Sirius ‘goodnight,’ Remus had adjourned to his room, once again wishing they could rip off the proverbial bandage and just tell James the truth so he could kiss his boyfriend whenever he wished.

He wouldn’t have dared to sneak into Sirius’ room, where James had taken the liberty to fall asleep, but how elated he was Sirius assumed the risk upon himself.

Drawing Sirius tighter against his chest and hips, Remus rolled their entangled bodies around so he could lean over his raven-haired boyfriend and lower his lips to meet the other eagerly waiting pair. “Padfoot,” he drew back merely an inch, his voice muffled and needy in the tiny gap between their faces, “I bloody missed you.”

“Well, of course you did, Moony,” Sirius smirked, reaching up to card through mussy strands of brunet hair, “I’m very missable. I’m quite surprised you even survived. I thought I’d find you dead from boredom without me around.”

“Padfoot, will you shut up and kiss me?”

Without further insistence, Sirius eagerly complied, sliding his arms around Remus’ bare midsection as the pair heatedly devoured each other’s mouths.

When they finally came up for air, Sirius whispered, “Moony, I’ve got something to show you.”

His voice buzzed with anticipation, a grin splitting his face as he climbed out of the bed and pulled Remus with him.

“Okay,” Remus responded cautiously, though anytime Sirius got excited, Remus was hard pressed not to be infected as well.

After letting Remus retrieve a jumper, Sirius led them into the still darkness, through the Potter mansion’s labyrinth of hallways and staircases and doorways until they came to the back door.

“Why are we going outside?” Remus questioned under his breath, though the cleansing swell of night’s nectarous air and murmuring breeze were not unwelcome.

“Shhh,” Sirius responded, quietly closing the door behind them. “You’re going to wake someone up, you git.”

“Your voice is louder than mine!” Remus countered playfully and freely, now that they were fully swallowed by the estate’s expansive backyard where noise would not infiltrate the house and disturb its sleeping patrons. “C’mon, Padfoot. I’m intrigued. … And growing slightly terrified. What’s up?”

“Moony, stop being impatient. You’re spoiling my surprise. I said had something to _show_ you. Not tell you.”

“You just enjoy building excitement every way you can to heighten the dramatics of any given situation,” Remus teased. He tried jabbing Sirius’ shoulder, but the motion was delivered more like a caress, one Remus gladly prolonged so his hand could travel down to the small of Sirius’ back.

Sirius made a loud noise of objection, though he leaned in to Remus’ touch. “Moony! How dare you accuse me of such behavior. I’m appalled and will now proceed to brood.”

Chuckling, Remus wrapped his arm around Sirius’ waist and landed a kiss on his shoulder. “Alright, no more questions, I promise. I’ll let you _show_ me whatever it is you’re on about.”

Tumbling along, pressed into one another at the hip, the pair finally approached the free-standing garage at the edge of the property.

“Is this it, Padfoot? Is this where you’re going to knock me off?”

“I hadn’t planned on it, Moony, but if you don’t stop it, I may bloody well have to.”

When Sirius finally managed to get his wand out of his pocket, he brought on the lights to reveal his motorbike proudly parked in the middle of dusty floor. Sirius turned his beaming face toward Remus with a look that read, _How about that?_

Remus hesitated, waiting for something else to appear, before offering carefully, “Um, Padfoot, I’ve already seen this.”

Undeterred, Sirius rushed toward the bike and knelt down beside it, reverently running a hand over the frame, seat, and fuel and exhaust systems. “Not like this, you haven’t! She’s all done, mate.”

“You mean _all_ done? Does it actually fly now?”

“ _She_ ,” Sirius corrected sternly, “does. And I’ve graciously decided to forgive all your previous insults and crushing doubts – “

“I never said I doubted you, Padfoot.”

“- And,” Sirius continued nobly, “I will let you be the first one to take a ride on her with me.”

“Is that right?” Remus smiled, the whirring affection that filled him overriding his concerns that the motorbike, though polished up a bit, looked no safer to use than it had seven months ago. “And to what do I owe this benevolent offer?”

Sirius shrugged. “I suppose I fancy you a bit. Now, hurry up … help me pull it outside and we’ll be off.”

Trying to remain expressionless, Remus gave the machine one final go-over, looking for all potential signs that spelled their imminent doom. Finally, his gaze traveled to Sirius’ expectant face, brimming with enthusiasm, and he determinedly tucked away his worries. Far be it from him to spoil Sirius’ fun or dampen his adventurous spirit, and if this was to be the death of them – well, there could be worse ways to die, Remus concluded. Besides, if any one could accomplish a ridiculously pointless yet very cool feat such as developing a flying motorbike, it would be Sirius.

Outside, after several seconds of distressing sputtering and failed attempts to start, the machine rumbled to life, jerkily shot forward several yards, and then began a slow, bouncy ascent. Remus’ breath caught in throat. His hands gripped Sirius’ flexed waist. He had to admit, there was something thrilling about being lifted into the star-speckled sky amid the cacophony of a running motor, the jolting movement and a faint scent of oil, and then splitting through the sooty thickness of night with speed and noise.

The sleepy suburban neighborhood, followed by the town itself, fell back to become a distant sheet of black, broken here and there by bright dots of light gleaming from porches, street intersections and nocturnal marquees.

Humming contentedly, though still clenching his thighs into the motorbike for good measure, Remus let his head drop onto Sirius’ back. And with every bit of his torso layered against his best friend’s, the muted hills and rivers rolling hundreds of feet below, and the steady chugging of the motor wrapping his mind toward an inner peace, a thought dawned on Remus.

_I’m in love with him._

He had suspected as much for many months, but now it was a truth fully formed and undeniable.

Right on cue, Sirius shouted over his shoulder, “How’s it going back there? You alright?”

“Perfect,” Remus called back. He sighed and rested his head on Sirius’ shoulder, where his lips could press against soft ivory skin and his nose could drink in the scent of freshly washed black curls.

Nearly an hour later – one that flew by as Remus embraced Sirius and mulled his newfound conviction – they started descending. As the machine rocked and sputtered again, Remus wondered for the first time why they hadn’t considered to put on helmets, as most discerning Muggles did when riding these contraptions.

“Hold on!” Sirius instructed over the clamor of the bike, which was dipping erratically.

 _Oh dear god, this is it._ Wrapping his arms under Sirius’ shoulders kept Remus intact for the remainder of their airborne experience, but when the wheels crashed into the ground, no degree of grip was sufficient.

The world tumbled around him, and then his back connected with a surface that, thankfully, was powdery, soft and damp. His senses became aware of several things at once: the scent of salt-laced air and gentle roar of undulating waves; Sirius’ voice frantically calling out his name; and a growing throb in his right arm.

“Damn it, Padfoot,” he chuckled, as Sirius’ face came into focus, hovering above him, sweating and conveying nothing but alarm.

“Moony, I’m so sorry.” Immediately his nimble hands went to the task of checking Remus for breaks and gashes, his behavior one of sustained concern despite Remus’ wry smile. 

“Well, I’d definitely say someone could use a little practice with landing,” he slowly sat up, wincing when weight on his right arm translated into a decidedly sharp jolt of pain. “But the ride itself was ace.”

Sirius allowed himself a short huff of laughter. “Fuck it all. I intended to sweep you off your feet, not throw you on your arse. … Moony, you have to promise me this won’t spook you off, or prevent you from – blimey, did you break your arm? Sodding…”

“Ahem, more like _you_ broke my arm,” Remus grinned, eliciting more looks of sweet concern and embarrassment from Sirius as he grimaced and groaned, “ _Moony_.”

“I think it’s just sprained, or bruised, Pads. I’ll be alright, I think. Now,” he pulled down Sirius’ hands, which were covering the shame on his face, “look at that incomparable view you’ve provided for us!”

Sirius turned to face the direction of Remus’ gaze. The tension in his face eased and he allowed his head to drop onto Remus’ shoulder where it nuzzled itself into a comfortable position.

The moon’s glow had turned the chalky sand on which they sat to white gold and dispersed a thousand diamonds of light to be carelessly tossed around by rolling flaps of murky salt water. The short beach married ribbons of sand with rocks and thickly shadowed coastal vegetation layered on rugged dunes. A towering cliff hugged the enclave to the north, creating a sense of seclusion further aided by midnight’s mysterious calm.

There the pair rested, sucked into the peace and quiet and only disrupting it with occasional whispers and peals of laughter and the soundless brushing of lips against shoulders and necks and cheeks.

Fog began its lumbering journey across the water within a few hours, at which point Remus realized his muscles had long since turned sore from sitting clenched and still surrounded by damp, cold air. When he mentioned as much to Sirius, however, the latter interpreted the complaint as a reason to pull the resisting werewolf to his feet and drag him into the frigid, foamy water until they were both soaked to their knees. Among cursing and vague threats to bring about Sirius’ immediate demise, Remus’ laughter forced its way out and when he yanked his impishly playful boyfriend against his own body and kissed him massively, the cold was lost among their tangled limbs and lips.

Another hour later, thoroughly knackered and nearly frostbitten, they gingerly crept indoors and back into their respective rooms, chancing a brief kiss in a vacant hallway that gradually was being overrun with creamy, timid daylight.

“Remember, the story is, you fell out of bed,” Sirius whispered against Remus’ cheek.

“You’re lucky I’m willing to play the bumbling fool to cover your mishaps,” Remus responded under his breath, pressing his lips against the other teen’s face and sensing the lingering chill from their seaside shenanigans.

“Don’t deny it, Moony,” Sirius said with a wink, turning sideways to glide between the frame and its creaky oak door back into his room, “you’ll be playing the fool for me as long as you live.”

  

* * *

 

 

“It would have to be the Appleby Arrows, obviously.”

“How can you even utter such blasphemy, Padfoot?” James was on his knees now, gesturing wildly, his face aghast. “Everyone knows the only team worth playing for in Britain is the Chudley Cannons.”

“Simple, mate. I just don’t think the bright orange would suit my complexion. Not as well as a delightful pale blue, anyway.”

“You’re barmy. They’re the worst team in league history!”

“But basing it off those standards,” Remus couldn’t help piping up as James grew more and more agitated with the nonsensical argument, “wouldn’t you want to play for the Magpies? They have accumulated several of the best records – ”

“How are you qualified to have this conversation?” James whipped around toward Remus, hazel eyes sparking as if to reflect the lash of his tongue. “You would have a better shot at heading the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures than you would of becoming a professional Quidditch player for _any_ team.”

Remus and Sirius chortled together, while Peter nervously glanced sideways at Remus to gauge his reaction to even the most subtle werewolf reference. Six years later, and Peter hadn’t altogether acquired the ease of teasing Remus about his affliction that the other two had.

“Pair of prats,” James shook his head with a grin and rearranged a pillow beneath his head before settling back down on the bed.

“What about you, Pete?” Sirius steered the conversation toward the teen resting at the foot of the bed, propped up on elbows. He had joined the other three at the Potter’s house earlier that day so the foursome could travel together to Hogwarts the following week.

“Still aiming for the Wizengamot,” Peter answered, his eyes shifting downward and his shoulder lifting in a show of self-deprecating uncertainty. “Dunno… lots of years of study ahead for that. Who knows if it’s even possible…”

His voice drifted off and Remus knew he was wordlessly soliciting for encouragement and assurance.

“Of course it will happen,” he supplied quickly. “You have the brains and pedigree for it. You’ll have no problem getting admission to a top-notch university, and after that, it’s all about patience and dedication during the next six years.”

“Except most of the best universities require you to earn an Outstanding on your History of Magic N.E.W.T., and it’s hard enough to even stay awake in that class with Professor Binns havering on as he does,” Peter said sourly. “Without you lot in the class, it’s a hopeless business. I’ll be lucky to even pass.”

“Yeah, sorry we left you to suffer alone in there, mate,” Sirius cocked his head sympathetically. “There was no reason to continue on with the course once I decided I want to pursue a career in bus driving.”

Remus rolled his eyes. This was Sirius’ latest anti-establishment compulsion: finding a career that would drive his relatives bat-shit crazy. He was vacillating between the vocations of Knight Bus driver and Ministry-appointed ambassador to the muggles, but heavily favoring the former as he balked at the idea of working for what he believed to be the utterly corrupt, draconian Ministry of Magic. Remus was waiting for Sirius to firmly land on an option before trying to talk him out of it.

“And you, Remus?” James nudged him gently.

Remus hesitated briefly. This was a sensitive topic, not because he had qualms about committing to a future course, but because of the somewhat daunting uncertainty surely waiting for him there, thanks to his lycanthropy. He was afraid to become married to one idea or another, because not one of them was unquestionably obtainable. What if he got his hopes up about a career path only to have it thwarted by a condition over which he had no control?

But nonetheless, a certain dream had materialized over the past few months and his well-intentioned warnings to himself couldn’t seem to shake it.

 “I think what I’d really like to do,” he said slowly, pausing to lick his lips so the next few words could more easily slide out, “is to work at a wizarding school, as a professor.”

“No shit?” James nudged him again, his excitement resulting in more force than necessary. “That’s brilliant. You’d be perfect for that job. Hogwarts, then?”

“Probably. Hopefully. But I would be happy to consider another institution,” Remus answered.

“How about being an English teacher at Beaubaxtons Academy?” Peter’s face lit up at what he surely considered the grandest idea in the world. “What a dream! Just day-in, and day-out, surrounded by blonde goddesses.”

Remus laughed appreciatively, considering only momentarily how simple it was to keep people believing something when they subconsciously presupposed and wished it to be true.

 “Being an English teacher at a muggle secondary school wouldn’t be such a bad gig either,” the werewolf considered. On cue, his mind turned to face his engrained self-doubt. “But I’m not certain they would be as inclined to help me figure out how to work around… erhm… well, y’know…. ‘the problem’…. Fact is, I’m not even sure it would be possible at Hogwarts. Allowing a questionable student to attend the school is one thing, but hiring a supposedly shady character to serve as a professor, and have influence over students, is a different risk entirely. Dumbledore might not – ”

“If Dumbledore doesn’t snatch you up to be a professor, he’s a right fool,” Sirius interjected hotly, surprising even Remus with the defensive venom coloring his tone and twisting his words into an aggressive insult. “You’d be bloody fantastic at Hogwarts! You’re the most perceptive, patient person I know. Plus, the smartest, which doesn’t hurt. They’d be lucky to have you, and worthless gits to turn your talent away.”

Remus could feel a warm blush overtake his face and he hoped the upturn of his lips was grateful rather than affectionate. He could not dwell on it, nor the surprised but confirming nods of Peter and James, for longer than a second before a piercing shriek compelled all four heads to crane toward the entryway.

“What the bloody hell?” James muttered, jumping to his feet. He swung open the door and was about to tumble hurriedly downstairs, followed by the other three concerned boys, when Mr. Potter’s quiet, calm whispers halted their footsteps.

“Shhh, Euphemia…. Euphemia…. It- it will be alright,” he soothed over Mrs. Potter’s now audible sobs.

“But the whole family… a-all of them,” she gasped. The words spilled out as rough chunks of noise barely discernible through shudders for breath. “Gone so quickly, with naught a trace of evidence. I can only imagine what h-horrors overtook them… Matthew, Rosaline… the b-boys….”

The last word was nearly lost in a wail so raw and untampered that Remus could feel the fine hair on his forearms stand on end. He suddenly realized he was not breathing. Sucking in air slowly and quietly, he turned and caught James’ eyes, and saw what could only be described as absolute dread. For four teenagers prone to constant activity, the stone-cold immobility they achieved as they listened intently would have astounded any onlooker.

“It’s not enough,” Mrs. Potter found her words again, and bitter disdain now took a turn simmering in her voice. “Nothing is enough. It’s not stopping, Fleamont! It’s getting worse. Every, single, bloody day. And what can be done?”

“We must be patient. Patient,” he repeated more firmly when Mrs. Potter began to loudly object. “Albus is working as swiftly as he can while taking a wise, calculated approach to this obscure war. It’s the best way to go about it when so much remains shrouded in mystery and uncertainty.”

“But the Ministry!”

“The Ministry has been decaying into shambles for years, and everyone knows it, even if they won’t admit so. The problem is the whole lot of them are terrified of spies and back-stabbers. Some are even afraid to give a name to this violence, to cast the blame on who clearly deserves it, because they’re scared for their jobs, their social statuses ... their _lives_.”

The next moment was silent except for a few subdued sniffles. Remus had to remind himself to continue breathing, although he felt as if his stomach was swelling with curdled milk. _Voldemort is unstoppable._

“The Order is up and running,” Mr. Potter at last continued, his voice once again soft and consoling. “We will double our contributions. You know it takes time to find the proper witches and wizards to serve in this manner.”

“And to ensure they’re trained properly,” Mrs. Potter sighed in agreement. “Soon… soon they’ll start ratting out these psychotic criminals – Death Eaters,” she spat out. “They’ll be dealt with swiftly and justly. But until then… Oh, Fleamont.... the casualties will continue… accidents and deaths proliferating throughout the country, maybe even across borders… and James only has one year left at Hogwarts… And then.” She inhaled sharply and Remus could only imagine what panic she was experiencing. He imagined her tear-soaked eyes and kneading hands, and the sorrow seeped to his very core.  

“James is turning into a talented wizard, Euphemia.” It was Mr. Potter’s best attempt at comforting his worried wife, but even Remus noticed how feeble it sounded.

He sank to the floor and leaned back against the wall, tears stinging his eyes, caused by a force he could barely sense, let alone identify. All he knew was that the future they were discussing moments before now seemed like a strange, eerie hybrid of dream and memory. Sirius followed his lead, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing at the creases in his forehead. James’ face was turned away from the others.

“He’s doing well at school,” Mr. Potter continued, picking up steam to convince himself, at least, if not Mrs. Potter. “Albus says he flies better than any student who has passed through the school under his tenure. And his defensive skills are noteworthy….”

Several more heavy seconds of silence passed before Mrs. Potter replied, speaking in a whisper so strained Remus pictured it being forcibly twisted from her clenched jaw and yanked through her pursed lips.

“He’s just a child, Fleamont …. a child … My. _Only_. Child.”


End file.
